CLANSMAN 


THE  CLANSMAN 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY  MR.  DIXON 

"THE  LEOPARD'S  SPOTS" 
"THE  ONE  WOMAN" 


" '  Do  you  not  fear  my  betrayal  of   your  secret  ?  '  " 


THE  CLANSMAN 

AN  HISTORICAL  ROMANCE 
OF   THE   KU    KLUX    KLAN 

BY 
THOMAS  DIXON,  JR. 

ILLUSTRATED     BY 

ARTHUR    I.    KELLER 


NEW  YORK 
A.  WESSELS   COMPANY 

1907 


Copyright,  1905 
By  THOMAS  DIXON,  JR. 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OP 
A    SCOTCH-IRISH    LEADER    OF  THE  SOUTH 

$®V  Mncle,  Coloiul  ZttoE  9®t$ilet 

GRAND  TITAN  OF  THE  INVISIBLE  EMPIRE 
KU  KLUX  KLAN 


TO  THE  READER 

"THE  CLANSMAN"  is  the  second  book  of  a  series  of 
historical  novels  planned  on  the  Race  Conflict.  "The 
Leopard's  Spots"  was  the  statement  in  historical  outline 
of  the  conditions  from  the  enfranchisement  of  the  Negro 
to  his  disfranchisement. 

"The  Clansman"  develops  the  true  story  of  the  "Ku 
Klux  Klan  Conspiracy,"  which  overturned  the  Recon 
struction  regime. 

The  organisation  was  governed  by  the  Grand  Wizard 
Commander-in-Chief,  who  lived  at  Memphis,  Tennessee. 
The  Grand  Dragon  commanded  a  State,  the  Grand 
Titan  a  Congressional  District,  the  Grand  Giant  a 
County,  and  the  Grand  Cyclops  a  Township  Den.  The 
twelve  volumes  of  Government  reports  on  the  famous 
Klan  refer  chiefly  to  events  which  occurred  after  1870, 
the  date  of  its  dissolution. 

The  chaos  of  blind  passion  that  followed  Lincoln's 
assassination  is  inconceivable  to-day.  The  Revolution 
it  produced  in  our  Government,  and  the  bold  attempt 
of  Thaddeus  Stevens  to  Africanise  ten  great  states 
of  the  American  Union,  read  now  like  tales  from  "The 
Arabian  Nights." 

I  have  sought  to  preserve  in  this  romance  both  the 
letter  and  the  spirit  of  this  remarkable  period.  The 
men  who  enact  the  drama  of  fierce  revenge  into  which 


To  the  Reader 

I  have  woven  a  double  love-story  are  historical  figures. 
I  have  merely  changed  their  names  without  taking  a 
liberty  with  any  essential  historic  fact. 

In  the  darkest  hour  of  the  life  of  the  South,  when  her 
wounded  people  lay  helpless  amid  rags  and  ashes  under 
the  beak  and  talon  of  the  Vulture,  suddenly  from  the 
mists  of  the  mountains  appeared  a  white  cloud  the  size 
of  a  man's  hand.  It  grew  until  its  mantle  of  mystery 
enfolded  the  stricken  earth  and  sky.  An  "Invisible 
Empire  "  had  risen  from  the  field  of  Death  and  challenged 
the  Visible  to  mortal  combat. 

How  the  young  South,  led  by  the  reincarnated  souls  of 
the  Clansmen  of  Old  Scotland,  went  forth  under  this 
cover  and  against  overwhelming  odds,  daring  exile,  im 
prisonment,  and  a  felon's  death,  and  saved  the  life  of  a 
people,  forms  one  of  the  most  dramatic  chapters  in  the 
history  of  the  Aryan  race. 

THOMAS  DIXON,  jr. 

DIXONDALE,  Va.,  December  14,  1904. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 
THE  ASSASSINATION 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I.    The   Bruised   Reed 3 

II.    The  Great  Heart 19 

III.  The  Man  of  War 33 

IV.  A  Clash  of  Giants  .               ...       .38 
V.     The  Battle  of  Love 56 

VI.    The  Assassination 61 

VII.  The  Frenzy  of  a  Nation         ....  80 

BOOK  7/j 
THE  REVOLUTION 

CHAPTflR  FACE 

L    The  First  Lady  of  the  Land    ....  90 

IL    Sweethearts 101 

III.  The  Joy  of  Living 112 

IV.  Hidden  Treasure 115 

V.     Across  the  Chasm 120 

VI.    The  Gauge  of  Battle 131 

VII.    A  Woman  Laughs 136 

VIII.  A  Dream 148 

IX.    The  King  Amuses  Himself     ....  152 

X.     Tossed  by  the  Storm 162 

XL    The  Supreme  Test 165 

XII.    Triumph  in  Defeat 179 


Contents 

BOOK  III 
THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  Fallen  Slaveholder's  Mansion   .       .       .     187 

II.  The  Eyes  of  the  Jungle 204 

III.  Augustus  Caesar 209 

IV.  At  the  Point  of  the  Bayonet    .       .       .       .218 
V.  Forty  Acres  and  a  Mule 235 

VI.  A  Whisper  in  the  Crowd       ....     244 

VII.  By  the  Light  of  a  Torch 254 

VIII.  The  Riot  in  the  Master's  Hall      ...     263 

IX.  At  Lover's  Leap 276 

X.  A  Night  Hawk        .       .       .       .       .       .284 

XI.  The  Beat  of  a  Sparrow's  Wing     .       .       .207 

XII.  At  the  Dawn  of  Day 305 

BOOK  IV 
THE  KU  KLUX  KLAN 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I.  The  Hunt  for  the  Animal      .       .       .       .309 

II.  The  Fiery  Cross 318 

III.  The  Parting  of  the  Ways      .       .       .       .327 

IV.  The  Banner  of  the  Dragon     .       .       .       .337 

V.  The  Reign  of  the  Klan 341 

VI.  The  Counter-Stroke        .       .       .       .       .351 

VII.    The  Snare  of  the  Fowler       .       .       .       .358 

VIII.     A  Ride  for  a  Life 362 

IX.     "Vengeance  is  Mine" 369 


LEADING  CHARACTERS  OF  THE  STORY 

Scene:    Washington  and  the  Foot-Hills  of  the  Carolinas. 
Time:    1865  to  1870. 

BEN  CAMERON  .  Grand  Dragon  of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan 
MARGARET  .  .  .  .'  ,  .  .  His  Sister 
MRS.  CAMERON  .  ir  .  ....  His  Mother 
DR.  RICHARD  CAMERON  .  .  .  .  His  Father 
HON.  AUSTIN  STONEMAN  .  Radical  Leader  of  Congress 

PHIL       . ».•••'   His  Son 

ELSIE  .  .  .  .  .  '••»••  • '  '  »-  His  Daughter 
MARION  LENOIR  .  .  x  »  »  ,  Ben's  First  Love 

MRS.  LENOIR       .  : Her  Mother 

JAKE      .       .      V     .       ,       ,       .        A  Faithful  Man 
SILAS  LYNCH        .       .       .       .        A  Negro  Missionary 

UNCLE  ALECK      .       .    '  .      The  Member  from  Ulster 
CINDY    .       .       .     ,.       .      .       .       .       .His  Wife 

COL.  HOWLE        .....       A  Carpet-bagger 

AUGUSTUS  CAESAR      .  Of  the  Black  Guard 

CHARLES  SUMNER  .  .  .  ,  .  Of  Massachusetts 
GEN.  BENJAMIN  F.  BUTLER  .  .  Of  Fort  Fisher 

ANDREW  JOHNSON The  President 

U.  S.  GRANT  .  .  .  The  Commanding  General 
ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  The  Friend  of  the  South 


THE    CLANSMAN 

Book  I— The  Assassination 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  BRUISED  REED 


T 


HE  fair  girl  who  was  playing  a  banjo  and  singing 
to  the  wounded  soldiers  suddenly  stopped,  and, 
turning  to  the  surgeon,  whispered  : 

"What's  that?" 

"It  sounds  like  a  mob " 

With  a  common  impulse  they  moved  to  the  open  window 
of  the  hospital  and  listened. 

On  the  soft  spring  air  came  the  roar  of  excited  thousands 
sweeping  down  the  avenue  from  the  Capitol  toward  the 
White  House.  Above  all  rang  the  cries  of  struggling 
newsboys  screaming  an  "Extra."  One  of  them  darted 
around  the  corner,  his  shrill  voice  quivering  with  excite 
ment: 

"Extra!    Extra!    Peace!    Victory!" 

Windows  were  suddenly  raised,  women  thrust  their 
heads  out,  and  others  rushed  into  the  street  and  crowded 
around  the  boy,  struggling  to  get  his  papers.  He  threw 
them  right  and  left  and  snatched  the  money — no  one  asked 
for  change.  Without  ceasing  rose  his  cry: 

3 


4  The  Clansman 

"Extra!    Peace!    Victory!    Lee   has  surrendered!" 

At  last  the  end  had  come. 

The  great  North,  with  its  millions  of  sturdy  people 
and  their  exhaustless  resources,  had  greeted  the  first 
shot  on  Sumter  with  contempt  and  incredulity.  A  few 
regiments  went  forward  for  a  month's  outing  to  settle 
the  trouble.  The  Thirteenth  Brooklyn  marched  gayly 
Southward  on  a  thirty  days'  jaunt,  with  pieces  of  rope 
conspicuously  tied  to  their  muskets  with  which  to 
bring  back  each  man  a  Southern  prisoner  to  be  led  in 
a  noose  through  the  streets  on  their  early  triumphant 
return!  It  would  be  unkind  to  tell  what  became  of 
those  ropes  when  they  suddenly  started  back  home 
ahead  of  the  scheduled  time  from  the  first  battle  of 
Bull  Run. 

People  from  the  South,  equally  wise,  marched  gayly 
North,  to  whip  five  Yankees  each  before  breakfast,  and 
encountered  unforeseen  difficulties. 

Both  sides  had  things  to  learn,  and  learned  them  in  a 
school  whose  logic  is  final — a  four  years'  course  in  the 
University  of  Hell — the  scream  of  eagles,  the  howl  of 
wolves,  the  bay  of  tigers,  the  roar  of  lions — all  locked 
in  Death's  embrace,  and  each  mad  scene  lit  by  the 
glare  of  volcanoes  of  savage  passions  I 

But  the  long  agony  was  over. 

The  city  bells  began  to  ring.  The  guns  of  the  forts 
joined  the  chorus,  and  their  deep  steel  throats  roared  until 
the  earth  trembled. 

Just  across  the  street  a  mother  who  was  reading  the 
fateful  news  turned  and  suddenly  clasped  a  boy  to  her 


The  Bruised  Reect  5 

heart,  crying  for  joy.     The  last  draft  of  half  a  million  had 
called  for  him. 

The  Capital  of  the  Nation  was  shaking  off  the  long 
nightmare  of  horror  and  suspense.  More  than  once  the 
city  had  shivered  at  the  mercy  of  those  daring  men  in 
gray,  and  the  reveille  of  their  drums  had  startled  even  the 
President  at  his  desk. 

Again  and  again  had  the  destiny  of  the  Republic  hung 
on  the  turning  of  a  hair,  and  in  every  crisis,  Luck,  Fate, 
God,  had  tipped  the  scale  for  the  Union. 

A  procession  of  more  than  five  hundred  Confederate 
deserters,  who  had  crossed  the  lines  in  groups,  swung  into 
view,  marching  past  the  hospital,  indifferent  to  the 
tumult.  Only  a  nominal  guard  flanked  them  as  they 
shuffled  along,  tired,  ragged,  and  dirty.  The  gray  in 
their  uniforms  was  now  the  colour  of  clay.  Some  had  on 
blue  pantaloons,  some  blue  vests,  others  blue  coats 
captured  on  the  field  of  blood.  Some  had  pieces  of 
carpet,  and  others  old  bags  around  their  shoulders. 
They  had  been  passing  thus  for  weeks.  Nobody  paid  any 
attention  to  them. 

"One  of  the  secrets  of  the  surrender!"  exclaimed  Doctor 
Barnes.  "Mr.  Lincoln  has  been  at  the  front  for  the 
past  weeks  with  offers  of  peace  and  mercy,  if  they  would, 
lay  down  their  arms.  The  great  soul  of  the  President, 
even  the  genius  of  Lee  could  not  resist.  His  smile  began 
to  melt  those  gray  ranks  as  the  sun  is  warming  the  earth 
to-day." 

"You  are  a  great  admirer  of  the  President,"  said  the 
girl,  with  a  curious  smile. 


6  The  Clansman 

"Yes,  Miss  Elsie,  and  so  are  all  who  know  him." 

She  turned  from  the  window  without  reply.  A  shadow 
crossed  her  face  as  she  looked  past  the  long  rows  of  cots, 
on  which  rested  the  men  in  blue,  until  her  eyes  found  one 
on  which  lay,  alone  among  his  enemies,  a  young  Con 
federate  officer. 

The  surgeon  turned  with  her  toward  the  man. 

"Will  he  live?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  only  to  be  hung." 

"For  what?"  she  cried. 

"Sentenced  by  court-martial  as  a  guerilla.  It's  a  lie, 
but  there's  some  powerful  hand  back  of  it — some  mys 
terious  influence  in  high  authority.  The  boy  wasn't  fully 
conscious  at  the  trial." 

"We  must  appeal  to  Mr.  Stanton." 

"As  well  appeal  to  the  Devil.  They  say  the  order 
came  from  his  office." 

"A  boy  of  nineteen!"  she  exclaimed.  "It's  a  shame. 
I'm  looking  for  his  mother.  You  told  me  to  telegraph  to 
Richmond  for  her." 

"Yes,  I'll  never  forget  his  cries  that  night,  so  utterly 
pitiful  and  childlike.  I've  heard  many  a  cry  of  pain,  but 
in  all  my  life  nothing  so  heart-breaking  as  that  boy  in 
fevered  delirium  talking  to  his  mother.  His  voice  is  one 
of  peculiar  tenderness,  penetrating  and  musical.  It  vices 
quivering  into  your  soul,  and  compels  you  to  listen  until 
you  swear  it's  your  brother  or  sweetheart  or  sister 
or  mother  calling  you.  You  should  have  seen  him 
the  day  he  fell.  God  of  mercies,  the  pity  and  the  glory 
of  it!" 


The  Bruised  Reed  7 

"Phil  wrote  me  that  he  was  a  hero  and  asked  me  to  look 
after  him.  Were  you  there?" 

"Yes,  with  the  battery  your  brother  was  supporting. 
He  was  the  colonel  of  a  shattered  rebel  regiment  lying 
just  in  front  of  us  before  Petersburg.  Richmond  was 
doomed,  resistance  was  madness,  but  there  they  were, 
ragged  and  half-starved,  a  handful  of  men  not  more  than 
four  hundred,  but  their  bayonets  gleamed  and  flashed  in 
the  sunlight.  In  the  face  of  a  murderous  fire,  he  charged 
and  actually  drove  our  men  out  of  an  entrenchment.  We 
concentrated  our  guns  on  him  as  he  crouched  behind  this 
earthwork.  Our  own  men  lay  outside  in  scores,  dead, 
dying,  and  wounded.  When  the  fire  slacked,  we  could 
hear  their  cries  for  water. 

"Suddenly  this  boy  sprang  on  the  breastwork.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  new  gray  colonel's  uniform  that  mother 
of  his,  in  the  pride  of  her  soul,  had  sent  him. 

"He  was  a  handsome  figure — tall,  slender,  straight,  a 
gorgeous  yellow  sash  tasselled  with  gold  around  his 
waist,  his  sword  flashing  in  the  sun,  his  slouch  hat  cocked 
on  one  side  and  an  eagle's  feather  in  it. 

"We  thought  he  was  going  to  lead  another  charge,  but 
just  as  the  battery  was  making  ready  to  fire,  he  deliberately 
walked  down  the  embankment  in  a  hail  of  musketry  and 
began  to  give  water  to  our  wounded  men. 

"Every  gun  ceased  firing,  and  we  watched  him.  He 
walked  back  to  the  trench,  his  naked  sword  flashed 
suddenly  above  that  eagle's  feather,  and  his  grizzled 
ragamuffins  sprang  forward  and  charged  us  like  so  many 
demons. 


8  The  Clansman 

"There  were  not  more  than  three  hundred  of  them  now, 
but  on  they  came,  giving  that  hellish  rebel  yell  at  every 
jump — the  cry  of  the  hunter  from  the  hilltop  at  the  sight 
of  his  game!  All  Southern  men  are  hunters,  and  that 
cry  was  transformed  in  war  into  something  unearthly 
when  it  came  from  a  hundred  throats  in  chorus  and  the 
game  was  human. 

"Of  course,  it  was  madness.  We  blew  them  down 
that  hill  like  chaff  before  a  hurricane.  When  the  last  man 
had  staggered  back  or  fallen,  on  came  this  boy  alone, 
carrying  the  colours  he  had  snatched  from  a  falling 
soldier,  as  if  he  were  leading  a  million  men  to  victory. 

"A  bullet  had  blown  his  hat  from  his  head,  and  we 
could  see  the  blood  streaming  down  the  side  of  his  face. 
He  charged  straight  into  the  jaws  of  one  of  our  guns. 
And  then,  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  and  a  dare  to  Death  in 
his  big  brown  eyes,  he  rammed  that  flag  into  the  cannon's 
mouth,  reeled,  and  fell!  A  cheer  broke  from  our  men. 

"Your  brother  sprang  forward  and  caught  him  in  his 
arms,  and  as  we  bent  over  the  unconscious  form,  he  ex 
claimed:  'My  God,  doctor,  look  at  him!  He  is  so  much 
like  me  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  shot  myself!'  They 
were  as  much  alike  as  twins — only  his  hair  was  darker. 
I  tell  you,  Miss  Elsie,  it's  a  sin  to  kill  men  like  that.  One 
such  man  is  worth  more  to  this  Nation  than  every  negro 
that  ever  set  his  flat  foot  on  this  continent!" 

The  girl's  eyes  had  grown  dim  as  she  listened  to  the 
story. 

"I  will  appeal  to  the  President,"  she  said,  firmly. 

"It's  the  only  chance.     And    just   now,  he  is  under 


The  Bruised  Reed  9 

tremendous  pressure.  His  friendly  order  to  the  Virginia 
Legislature  to  return  to  Richmond,  Stanton  forced  him 
to  cancel.  A  master  hand  has  organised  a  conspiracy  in 
Congress  to  crush  the  President.  They  curse  his  policy 
of  mercy  as  imbecility,  and  swear  to  make  the  South  a 
second  Poland.  Their  watchwords  are  vengeance  and 
confiscation.  Four-fifths  of  his  party  in  Congress  are 
in  this  plot.  The  President  has  less  than  a  dozen  real 
friends  in  either  House  on  whom  he  can  depend.  They 
say  that  Stanton  is  to  be  given  a  free  hand,  and  that  the 
gallows  will  be  busy.  This  cancelled  order  of  the  President 
looks  like  it." 

"I'll  try  my  hand  with  Mr.  Stanton,"  she  said  with  slow 
emphasis. 

"  Good  luck,  Little  Sister — let  me  know  if  I  can  help,'* 
the  surgeon  answered  cheerily  as  he  passed  on  his  round 
of  work. 

Elsie  Stoneman  took  her  seat  beside  the  cot  of  the 
wounded  Confederate  and  began  softly  to  sing  and  play. 

A  little  farther  along  the  same  row  a  soldier  was  dying, 
a  faint  choking  just  audible  in  his  throat.  An  attendant 
sat  beside  him  and  would  not  leave  till  the  last.  The 
ordinary  chat  and  hum  of  the  ward  went  on  indifferent 
to  peace,  victory,  life,  or  death.  Before  the  finality  of 
the  hospital,  all  other  events  of  earth  fade.  Some  were 
playing  cards  or  checkers,  some  laughing  and  joking,  and 
others  reading. 

At  the  first  soft  note  from  the  singer,  the  games  ceased, 
and  the  reader  put  down  his  book. 

The  banjo  had  come  to  Washington  with  the  negroes 


io  The  Clansman 

following  the  wake  of  the  army.  She  had  laid  aside  her 
guitar  and  learned  to  play  all  the  stirring  camp-songs  of 
the  South.  Her  voice  was  low,  soothing,  and  tender.  It 
held  every  silent  listener  in  a  spell. 

As  she  played  and  sang  the  songs  the  wounded  man 
loved,  her  eyes  lingered  in  pity  on  his  sun-bronzed  face, 
pinched  and  drawn  with  fever.  He  was  sleeping  the 
stupid  sleep  that  gives  no  rest.  She  could  count  the 
irregular  pounding  of  his  heart  in  the  throb  of  the  big 
vein  on  his  neck.  His  lips  were  dry  and  burnt,  and  the 
little  boyish  moustache  curled  upward  from  the  row  of 
white  teeth  as  if  scorched  by  the  fiery  breath. 

He  began  to  talk  in  flighty  sentences,  and  she  listened — 
his  mother — his  sister — and  yes,  she  was  sure  as  she  bent 
nearer — a  little  sweetheart  who  lived  next  door.  They 
all  had  sweethearts — these  Southern  boys.  Again  he  was 
teasing  his  dog — and  then  back  in  battle. 

At  length  he  opened  his  eyes,  great  dark-brown  eyes, 
unnaturally  bright,  with  a  strange  yearning  look  in  their 
depths  as  they  rested  on  Elsie.  He  tried  to  smile  and 
feebly  said: 

"Here's — a — fly — on — my — left — ear — my — guns — 
can't — somehow — reach — him — won't — you " 

She  sprang  forward  and  brushed  the  fly  away. 

Again  he  opened  his  eyes. 

"Excuse — me — for — asking — but  am  I  alive?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  was  the  cheerful  answer. 

"Well,  now,  then,  is  this  me,  or  is  it  not  me,  or  has  a 
cannon  shot  me,  or  has  the  Devil  got  me?" 

"It's  you.    The  cannon  didn't  shoot  you,  but  three 


The  Bruised  Reed  n 

muskets  did.  The  Devil  hasn't  got  you  yet,  but  he  will, 
unless  you're  good." 

"  I'll  be  good  if  you  won't  leave  me " 

Elsie  turned  her  head  away  smiling,  and  he  went  on 
slowly: 

"But  I'm  dead,  I  know.  I'm  sleeping  on  a  cot  with 
a  canopy  over  it.  I  ain't  hungry  any  more,  and  an 
angel  has  been  hovering  over  me  playing  on  a  harp  of 
gold " 

"  Only  a  little  Yankee  girl  playing  the  banjo." 

"Can't  fool  me — I'm  in  heaven." 

"You're  in  the  hospital." 

"Funny  hospital — look  at  that  harp  and  that  big 
trumpet  hanging  close  by  it — that's  Gabriel's  trumpet " 

" No,"  she  laughed.  "This  is  the  Patent  Office  building, 
that  covers  two  blocks,  now  a  temporary  hospital.  There 
are  seventy  thousand  wounded  soldiers  in  town,  and  more 
coming  on  every  train.  The  thirty-five  hospitals  are 
overcrowded." 

He  closed  his  eyes  a  moment  in  silence,  and  then  spoke 
with  a  feeble  tremor : 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't  know  who  I  am — I  can't  impose 
on  you — I'm  a  rebel " 

"Yes,  I  know.  You  are  Colonel  Ben  Cameron.  It 
makes  no  difference  to  me  now  which  side  you  fought  on." 

"Well,  I'm  in  heaven — been  dead  a  long  time.  I  can 
prove  it,  if  you'll  play  again." 

"What  shall  I  play?" 

"First,  '0  Jonny  Booker  Help  Dis  Nigger.1" 

She  played  and  sang  it  beautifully. 


12  The  Clansman 

"Now,  'Wake  Up  In  the  Morning."' 

Again  he  listened  with  wide,  staring  eyes,  that  saw 
nothing  except  visions  within. 

"Now,  then,  '  The  Ole  Gray  Hoss.'" 

As  the  last  notes  died  away,  he  tried  to  smile  again : 

"One  more — 'Hard  Times  an'  Wuss  er  Comin'."' 

With  deft,  sure  touch  and  soft  negro  dialect  she  sang  it 
through. 

"Now,  didn't  I  tell  you  that  you  couldn't  fool  me  ?  No 
Yankee  girl  could  play  and  sing  these  songs.  I'm  in 
heaven,  and  you're  an  angel." 

"  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself  to  flirt  with  me,  with 
one  foot  in  the  grave  ? " 

"That's  the  time  to  get  on  good  terms  with  the  angels — 
but  I'm  done  dead " 

Elsie  laughed  in  spite  of  herself. 

"I  know  it,"  he  went  on,  "because  you  have  shining 
golden  hair  and  amber  eyes,  instead  of  blue  ones.  I  never 
saw  a  girl  in  my  life  before  with  such  eyes  and  hair." 

"  But  you're  young  yet." 

"Never  —  was  —  such  —  a  —  girl  —  on  —  earth  — 
you're — an " 

She  lifted  her  finger  in  warning,  and  his  eyelids  drooped 
in  exhausted  stupor. 

"You  mustn't  talk  any  more,"  she  whispered,  shaking 
her  head. 

A  commotion  at  the  door  caused  Elsie  to  turn  from  the 
cot.  A  sweet  motherly  woman  of  fifty,  in  an  old  faded 
black  dress,  was  pleading  with  the  guard  to  be  allowed 
to  pass, 


The  Bruised  Reed  13 

"Can't  do  it,  M'um.     It's  agin  the  rules." 

"  But  I  must  go  in.  I've  tramped  for  four  days  through 
a  wilderness  of  hospitals,  and  I  know  he  must  be  here." 

"Special  orders,  M'um — wounded  rebels  in  here  that 
belong  in  prison." 

"Very  well,  young  man,"  said  the  pleading  voice. 
"  My  baby  boy's  in  this  place,  wounded  and  about  to  die. 
I'm  going  in  there.  You  can  shoot  me  if  you  like,  or  you 
can  turn  your  head  the  other  way." 

She  stepped  quickly  past  the  soldier,  who  merely  stared 
with  dim  eyes  out  the  door  and  saw  nothing. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  with  a  look  of  helpless  bewilder 
ment.  The  vast  area  of  the  second  story  of  the  great 
monolithic  pile  was  crowded  with  rows  of  sick,  wounded, 
and  dying  men — a  strange,  solemn,  and  curious  sight. 
Against  the  walls  were  ponderous  glass  cases,  filled 
with  models  of  every  kind  of  invention  the  genius  of  man 
had  dreamed.  Between  these  cases  were  deep  lateral 
openings,  eight  feet  wide,  crowded  with  the  sick,  and  long 
rows  of  them  were  stretched  through  the  centre  of  the 
hall.  A  gallery  ran  around  above  the  cases,  and  this  was 
filled  with  cots.  The  clatter  of  the  feet  of  passing  surgeons 
and  nurses  over  the  marble  floor  added  to  the  weird 
impression. 

Elsie  saw  the  look  of  helpless  appeal  in  the  mother's 
face  and  hurried  forward  to  meet  her: 

"Is  this  Mrs.  Cameron,  of  South  Carolina?" 
,    The  trembling  figure  in  black  grasped  her  hand  eagerly : 

"Yes,  yes,  my  dear,  and  I'm  looking  for  my  boy,  who  is 
wounded  unto  death.  Can  you  help  me?" 


14  The  Clansman 

"I  thought  I  recognised  you  from  a  miniature  I've  seen,' 
she  answered  softly.     "I'll  lead  you  direct  to  his  cot." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you!"  came  the  low  reply. 

In  a  moment  she  was  beside  him,  and  Elsie  walked  away 
to  the  open  window  through  which  came  the  chirp  of 
sparrows  from  the  lilac-bushes  in  full  bloom  below. 

The  mother  threw  one  look  of  infinite  tenderness 
on  the  drawn  face,  and  her  hands  suddenly  clasped  in 
prayer: 

"I  thank  Thee,  Lord  Jesus,  for  this  hour!  Thou  hast 
heard  the  cry  of  my  soul  and  led  my  feet!"  She  gently 
knelt,  kissed  the  hot  lips,  smoothed  the  dark  tangled  hair 
back  from  his  forehead,  and  her  hand  rested  over  his  eyes. 

A  faint  flush  tinged  his  face. 

"It's  you,  Mama — I— know — you — that's — your — hand 
—or— else— it's— God's! " 

She  slipped  her  arms  about  him. 

"My  hero,  my  darling,  my  baby!" 

"  I'll  get  well  now,  Mama,  never  fear.  You  see,  I  had 
whipped  them  that  day  as  I  had  many  a  time  before.  I 
don't  know  how  it  happened — my  men  seemed  all  to  go 
down  at  once.  You  know — I  couldn't  surrender  in 
that  new  uniform  of  a  colonel  you  sent  me — we  made  a 
gallant  fight,  and — now — I'm — just — a — little — tired — but 
you  are  here,  and  it's  all  right." 

"Yes,  yes,  dear.  It's  all  over  now.  General  Lee  has 
surrendered,  and  when  you  are  better  I'll  take  you  home, 
where  the  sunshine  and  flowers  will  give  you  strength 
again." 

"How's  my  little  Sis?" 


The  Bruised  Reed  15 

"Hunting  in  another  part  of  the  city  for  you.  She's 
grown  so  tall  and  stately  you'll  hardly  know  her.  Your 
Papa  is  at  home,  and  don't  know  yet  that  you  are 
wounded." 

"And  my  sweetheart,  Marion  Lenoir  ?" 

"The  most  beautiful  little  girl  in  Piedmont — as  sweet 
and  mischievous  as  ever.  Mr.  Lenoir  is  very  ill,  but 
he  has  written  a  glorious  poem  about  one  of  your 
charges.  I'll  show  it  to  you  to-morrow.  He  is  our 
greatest  poet.  The  South  worships  him.  Marion  sent 
her  love  to  you  and  a  kiss  for  the  young  hero  of  Pied 
mont.  I'll  give  it  to  you  now." 

She  bent  again  and  kissed  him. 

"And  my  dogs?" 

"  General  Sherman  left  them,  at  least." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  of  that— my  mare  all  right?" 

"Yes,  but  we  had  a  time  to  save  her — Jake  hid  her  in 
the  woods  till  the  army  passed." 

"Bully  for  Jake." 

"I  don't  know  what  we  should  have  done  without  him." 

"Old  Aleck  still  at  home,  and  getting  drunk  as  usual?" 

"No,  he  ran  away  with  the  army  and  persuaded  every 
negro  on  the  Lenoir  place  to  go,  except  his  wife,  Aunt 
Cindy." 

"The  old  rascal,  when  Mrs.  Lenoir 's  mother  saved  him 
from  burning  to  death  when  he  was  a  boy!" 

"Yes,  and  he  told  the  Yankees  those  fire  scars  were 
made  with  the  lash,  and  led  a  squad  to  the  house  one 
night  to  burn  the  barns.  Jake  headed  them  off  and  told 
on  him.  The  soldiers  were  so  mad  they  strung  him  up 


i6  The  Clansman 

and  thrashed  him  nearly  to  death.  We  haven't  seen  him 
since." 

"Well,  I'll  take  care  of  you,  Mama,  when  I  get  home. 
Of  course  I'll  get  well.  It's  absurd  to  die  at  nineteen. 
You  know  I  never  believed  the  bullet  had  been  moulded 
that  could  hit  me.  In  three  years  of  battle,  I  lived  a 
charmed  life  and  never  got  a  scratch." 

His  voice  had  grown  feeble  and  laboured,  and  his  face 
flushed.  His  mother  placed  her  hand  on  his  lips. 

"  Just  one  more,"  he  pleaded  feebly.  "  Did  you  see  the 
little  angel  who  has  been  playing  and  singing  for  me? 
You  must  thank  her." 

"Yes,  I  see  her  coming  now.  I  must  go  and  tell 
Margaret,  and  we  will  get  a  pass  and  come  every  day." 

She  kissed  him,  and  went  to  meet  Elsie. 

"And  you  are  the  dear  girl  who  has  been  playing  and 
singing  for  my  boy,  a  wounded  stranger  here  alone  among 
his  foes?" 

"Yes,  and  for  all  the  others,  too." 

Mrs.  Cameron  seized  both  of  her  hands  and  looked  at 
her  tenderly. 

"You  will  let  me  kiss  you?    I  shall  always  love  you." 

She  pressed  Elsie  to  her  heart.  In  spite  of  the  girl's 
reserve,  a  sob  caught  her  breath  at  the  touch  of  the  warm 
lips.  Her  own  mother  had  died  when  she  was  a  baby, 
and  a  shy,  hungry  heart,  long  hidden  from  the  world, 
leaped  in  tenderness  and  pain  to  meet  that  embrace. 

Elsie  walked  with  her  to  the  door,  wondering  how  the 
terrible  truth  of  her  boy's  doom  could  be  told. 

She  tried  to  speak,  looked  into  Mrs.  Cameron's  face, 


The  Bruised  Reed  17 

radiant  with  grateful  joy,  and  the  words  froze  on  her  lips. 
She  decided  to  walk  a  little  way  with  her.  But  the  task 
became  all  the  harder. 

At  the  corner  she  stopped  abruptly  and  bade  her  good 
bye: 

"I  must  leave  you  now,  Mrs.  Cameron.  I  will  call  for 
you  in  the  morning  and  help  you  secure  the  passes  to  enter 
the  hospital." 

The  mother  stroked  the  girl's  hand  and  held  it  linger- 
ingly. 

"How  good  you  are,"  she  said,  softly.  "And  you 
have  not  told  me  your  name  ?  " 

Elsie  hesitated  and  said : 

"That's  a  little  secret.  They  call  me  Sister  Elsie,  the 
Banjo  Maid,  in  the  hospitals.  My  father  is  a  man  of 
distinction.  I  should  be  annoyed  if  my  full  name  were 
known.  I'm  Elsie  Stoneman.  My  father  is  the  leader 
of  the  House.  I  live  with  my  aunt." 

"Thank  you,"  she  whispered,  pressing  her  hand. 

Elsie  watched  the  dark  figure  disappear  in  the  crowd 
with  a  strange  tumult  of  feeling. 

The  mention  of  her  father  had  revived  the  suspicion 
that  he  was  the  mysterious  power  threatening  the  policy 
of  the  President  and  planning  a  reign  of  terror  for  the 
South.  Next  to  the  President,  he  was  the  most  powerful 
man  in  Washington,  and  the  unrelenting  foe  of  Mr. 
Lincoln,  although  the  leader  of  his  party  in  Congress, 
which  he  ruled  with  a  rod  of  iron.  He  was  a  man  of 
fierce  and  terrible  resentments.  And  yet,  in  his  personal 
life,  to  those  he  knew  he  was  generous  and  considerate. 


i8  The  Clansman 

"Old  Austin  Stoneman,  the  Great  Commoner,"  he  was 
called,  and  his  name  was  one  to  conjure  with  in  the  world 
of  deeds.  To  this  fair  girl  he  was  the  noblest  Roman  of 
them  all,  her  ideal  of  greatness.  He  was  an  indulgent 
father,  and,  while  not  demonstrative,  loved  his  children 
with  passionate  devotion. 

She  paused  and  looked  up  at  the  huge  marble  columns 
that  seemed  each  a  sentinel  beckoning  her  to  return 
within  to  the  cot  that  held  a  wounded  foe.  The  twilight 
had  deepened,  and  the  soft  light  of  the  rising  moon  had 
clothed  the  solemn  majesty  of  the  building  with  shimmering 
tenderness  and  beauty. 

"Why  should  I  be  distressed  for  one,  an  enemy,  among 
these  thousands  who  have  fallen?"  she  asked  herself. 
Every  detail  of  the  scene  she  had  passed  through  with  him 
and  his  mother  stood  out  in  her  soul  with  startling  dis 
tinctness — and  the  horror  of  his  doom  cut  with  the  deep 
sense  of  personal  anguish. 

"He  shall  not  die,"  she  said,  with  sudden  resolution. 
"I'll  take  his  mother  to  the  President.  He  can't  resist 
her.  I'll  send  for  Phil  to  help  me." 

She  hurried  to  the  telegraph  office  and  summoned  her 
brother. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  GREAT  HEART 

THE  next  morning,  when  Elsie  reached  the  obscure 
boarding-house  at  which  Mrs.  Cameron  stopped, 
the  mother  had  gone  to  the  market  to  buy  a  bunch 
of  roses  to  place  beside  her  boy's  cot. 

As  Elsie  awaited  her  return,  the  practical  little 
Yankee  maid  thought  with  a  pang  of  the  tenderness 
and  folly  of  such  people.  She  knew  this  mother 
had  scarcely  enough  to  eat,  but  to  her  bread 
was  of  small  importance,  flowers  necessary  to  life. 
After  all,  it  was  very  sweet,  this  foolishness  of 
these  Southern  people,  and  it  somehow  made  her 
homesick. 

"How  can  I  tell  her!"  she  sighed.     "And  yet  I  must." 

She  had  only  waited  a  moment  when  Mrs.  Cameron 
suddenly  entered  with  her  daughter.  She  threw  her 
flowers  on  the  table,  sprang  forward  to  meet  Elsie,  seized 
her  hands  and  called  to  Margaret. 

"How  good  of  you  to  come  so  soon!  This,  Margaret, 
is  our  dear  little  friend  who  has  been  so  good  to  Ben  and 
to  me." 

Margaret  took  Elsie's  hand  and  longed  to  throw  her 
arms  around  her  neck,  but  something  in  the  quiet  dignity 
of  the  Northern  girl's  manner  held  her  back.  She  only 

'9 


20  The  Clansman 

smiled  tenderly  through  her  big  dark  eyes,  and  softly 
said: 

"We  love  you!  Ben  was  my  last  brother.  We  were 
playmates  and  chums.  My  heart  broke  when  he  ran 
away  to  the  front.  How  can  we  thank  you  and  your 
brother!" 

"I'm  sure  we've  done  nothing  more  than  you  would 
have  done  for  us,"  said  Elsie,  as  Mrs.  Cameron  left  the 
room. 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  we  can  never  tell  you  how  grateful 
we  are  to  you.  We  feel  that  you  have  saved  Ben's  life 
and  ours.  The  war  has  been  one  long  horror  to  us  since 
my  first  brother  was  killed.  But  now  it's  over,  and  we 
have  Ben  left,  and  our  hearts  have  been  crying  for  joy 
all  night." 

"I  hoped  my  brother,  Captain  Phil  Stoneman,  would 
be  here  to-day  to  meet  you  and  help  me,  but  he  can't 
reach  Washington  before  Friday." 

"He  caught  Ben  in  his  arms!"  cried  Margaret.  "I 
know  he's  brave,  and  you  must  be  proud  of  him." 

"  Doctor  Barnes  says  they  are  as  much  alike  as  twins — 
only  Phil  is  not  quite  so  tall  and  has  blond  hair  like  mine." 

"You  will  let  me  see  him  and  thank  him  the  moment 
he  comes?" 

"Hurry,  Margaret!"  cheerily  cried  Mrs.  Cameron, 
re-entering  the  parlour.  "Get  ready;  we  must  go  at 
once  to  the  hospital." 

Margaret  turned  and  with  stately  grace  hurried  from 
the  room.  The  old  dress  she  wore  as  unconscious  of 
its  shabbiness  as  though  it  were  a  royal  robe. 


The  Great  Heart  21 

"  And  now,  my  dear,  what  must  I  do  to  get  the  passes  ?  " 
asked  the  mother  eagerly. 

Elsie's  warm  amber  eyes  grew  misty  for  a  moment,  and 
the  fair  skin  with  its  gorgeous  rose-tints  of  the  North  paled. 
She  hesitated,  tried  to  speak,  and  was  silent. 

The  sensitive  soul  of  the  Southern  woman  read  the 
message  of  sorrow  words  had  not  framed. 

"Tell  me,  quickly!  The  doctor — has — not — concealed 
— his — true — condition — from — me  ?  " 

"No,  he  is  certain  to  recover." 

"What  then?" 

"Worse — he  Is  condemned  to  death  by  court-martial." 

"  Condemned  to  death — a — wounded — prisoner — of — 
war!"  she  whispered  slowly,  with  blanched  face. 

"Yes,  he  was  accused  of  violating  the  rules  of  war  as 
a  guerilla  raider  in  the  invasion  of  Pennsylvania." 

"Absurd  and  monstrous!  He  was  on  General  Jeb 
Stuart's  staff  and  could  have  acted  only  under  his  orders. 
He  joined  the  infantry  after  Stuart's  death,  and  rose  to  be 
a  colonel,  though  but  a  boy.  There's  some  terrible 
mistake!" 

"Unless  we  can  obtain  his  pardon,"  Elsie  went  on  in 
even,  restrained  tones,  "there  is  no  hope.  We  must  appeal 
to  the  President." 

The  mother's  lips  trembled,  and  she  seemed  about  to 
faint. 

"Could  I  see  the  President?"  she  asked,  recovering 
herself  with  an  effort. 

"He  has  just  reached  Washington  from  the  front,  and  is 
thronged  by  thousands.  It  will  be  difficult." 


22  The  Clansman 

The  mother's  lips  were  moving  in  silent  prayer,  and  her 
eyes  were  tightly  closed  to  keep  back  the  tears. 

"  Can  you  help  me,  dear  ? "  she  asked,  piteously. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  quick  response. 

"You  see,"  she  went  on,  "I  feel  so  helpless.  I  have 
never  been  to  the  White  House  or  seen  the  President, 
and  I  don't  know  how  to  go  about  seeing  him  or  how 
to  ask  him — and — I  am  afraid  of  Mr.  Lincoln!  I  have 
heard  so  many  harsh  things  said  of  him." 

"I'll  do  my  best,  Mrs.  Cameron.  We  must  go  at  once 
to  the  White  House  and  try  to  see  him." 

The  mother  lifted  the  girl's  hand  and  stroked  it  gently. 

"We  will  not  tell  Margaret.  Poor  child!  she  could 
not  endure  this.  When  we  return,  we  may  have 
better  news.  It  can't  be  worse.  I'll  send  her  on 
an  errand." 

She  took  up  the  bouquet  of  gorgeous  roses  with  a  sigh, 
buried  her  face  in  the  fresh  perfume,  as  if  to  gain  strength 
in  their  beauty  and  fragrance,  and  left  the  room. 

In  a  few  moments  she  had  returned  and  was  on  her  way 
with  Elsie  to  the  White  House. 

It  was  a  beautiful  spring  morning,  this  eleventh  day  of 
April,  1865.  The  glorious  sunshine,  the  shimmering 
green  of  the  grass,  the  warm  breezes,  and  the  shouts  of 
victory  mocked  the  mother's  anguish. 

At  the  White  House  gates  they  passed  the  blue  sentry 
pacing  silently  back  and  forth,  who  merely  glanced  at 
them  with  keen  eyes  and  said  nothing.  In  the  steady  beat 
of  his  feet  the  mother  could  hear  the  tramp  of  soldiers 
leading  her  boy  to  the  place  of  death  1 


The  Great  Heart  23 

A  great  lump  rose  ii  her  throat  as  she  caught  the  first 
view  of  the  Executive  Mansion  gleaming  white  and  silent 
and  ghostlike  among  the  budding  trees.  The  tall 
columns  of  the  great  fa£ade,  spotless  as  snow,  the  spray 
of  the  fountain,  the  marble  walls,  pure,  dazzling  and  cold, 
seemed  to  her  the  gateway  to  some  great  tomb  in  which 
her  own  dead  and  the  dead  of  all  the  people  lay!  To 
her  the  fair  white  palace,  basking  there  in  the  sunlight 
and  budding  grass,  shrub  and  tree,  was  the  Judgment 
House  of  Fate.  She  thought  of  all  the  weary  feet  that 
had  climbed  its  fateful  steps  in  hope  to  return  in  despair, 
of  its  fierce  dramas  on  which  the  lives  of  millions  had 
hung,  and  her  heart  grew  sick. 

A  long  line  of  people  already  stretched  from  the  entrance 
under  the  portico  far  out  across  the  park,  awaiting  their 
turn  to  see  the  President. 

Mrs.  Cameron  placed  her  hand  falteringly  on  Elsie's 
shoulder. 

"Look,  my  dear,  what  a  crowd  already!  Must  we 
wait  in  line?" 

"No,  I  can  get  you  past  the  throng  with  my  father's 
name." 

"Will  it  be  very  difficult  to  reach  the  President  ?" 
"No,  it's  very  easy.  Guards  and  sentinels  annoy 
him.  He  frets  until  they  are  removed.  An  assassin  or 
maniac  could  kill  him  almost  any  hour  of  the  day  or 
night.  The  doors  are  open  at  all  hours,  very  late  at 
night.  I  have  often  walked  up  to  the  rooms  of  his 
secretaries  as  late  as  nine  o'clock  without  being  chal 
lenged  by  a  souL" 


24  The  Clansman 

"What  must  I  call  him?  Must  I  say  'Your  Excel 
lency'?" 

"  By  no  means — he  hates  titles  and  forms.  You  should 
say  'Mr.  President'  in  addressing  him.  But  you  will 
please  him  best  if,  in  your  sweet,  homelike  way,  you  will 
just  call  him  by  his  name.  You  can  rely  on  his  sym 
pathy.  Read  this  letter  of  his  to  a  widow.  I  brought  it 
to  show  you." 

She  handed  Mrs.  Cameron  a  newspaper  clipping  on 
which  was  printed  Mr.  Lincoln's  letter  to  Mrs.  Bixby,  of 
Boston,  who  had  lost  five  sons  in  the  war. 

Over  and  over  she  read  its  sentences  until  they  echoed 
as  solemn  music  in  her  soul: 

"I  feel  how  weak  and  fruitless  must  be  any  words  of  mine 
which  should  attempt  to  beguile  you  from  the  grief  of  a  loss  so 
overwhelming.  But  I  cannot  refrain  from  tendering  you  the 
consolation  that  may  be  found  in  the  thanks  of  the  republic 
they  died  to  save.  I  pray  that  our  Heavenly  Father  may 
assuage  the  anguish  of  your  bereavement,  and  leave  you  only 
the  cherished  memory  of  the  loved  and  lost,  and  the  solemn 
pride  that  must  be  yours  to  have  laid  so  costly  a  sacrifice  upon 
the  altar  of  freedom. 

"Yours  very  sincerely  and  respectfully, 

"ABRAHAM  LINCOLN." 

"And  the  President  paused  amid  a  thousand  cares  to 
write  that  letter  to  a  broken-hearted  woman  ?  "  the  mother 
asked. 

"Yes." 

"Then  he  is  good  down  to  the  last  secret  depths  of  a 
great  heart!  Only  a  Christian  father  could  have  written 
that  letter.  I  shall  not  be  afraid  to  speak  to  him.  And 
they  told  me  he  was  an  infidel!" 

Elsie  led  her  by  a  private  way  past  the  crowd  and 


The  Great  Heart  25 

into  the  office  of  Major  Hay,  the  President's  private 
secretary.  A  word  from  the  Great  Commoner's  daugh 
ter  admitted  them  at  once  to  the  President's  room. 

"Just  take  a  seat  on  one  side,  Miss  Elsie,"  said  Major 
Hay;  "watch  your  first  opportunity  and  introduce  your 
friend." 

On  entering  the  room,  Mrs.  Cameron  could  not  see  the 
President,  who  was  seated  at  his  desk  surrounded  by  three 
men  in  deep  consultation  over  a  mass  of  official  documents. 

She  looked  about  the  room  nervously  and  felt  reassured 
by  its  plain  aspect.  It  was  a  medium-sized,  office-like 
place,  with  no  signs  of  elegance  or  ceremony.  Mr.  Lincoln 
was  seated  in  an  arm-chair  beside  a  high  writing-desk  and 
table  combined.  She  noticed  that  his  feet  were  large  and 
that  they  rested  on  a  piece  of  simple  straw  matting. 
Around  the  room  were  sofas  and  chairs  covered  with  green 
worsted. 

When  the  group  about  the  chair  parted  a  moment,  she 
caught  the  first  glimpse  of  the  man  who  held  her  life  in 
the  hollow  of  his  hand.  She  studied  him  with  breathless 
interest.  His  back  was  still  turned.  Even  while  seated, 
she  saw  that  he  was  a  man  of  enormous  stature,  fully  six 
feet  four  inches  tall,  legs  and  arms  abnormally  long,  and 
huge  broad  shoulders  slightly  stooped.  His  head  was 
powerful  and  crowned  with  a  mass  of  heavy  brown  hair, 
tinged  with  silver. 

He  turned  his  head  slightly  and  she  saw  his  profile  set 
in  its  short  dark  beard — the  broad  intellectual  brow,  half 
covered  by  unmanageable  hair,  his  face  marked  with 
deep-cut  lines  of  life  and  death,  with  great  hollows  in  the 


26  The  Clansman 

cheeks  and  under  the  eyes.  In  the  lines  which  marked 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  she  could  see  firmness,  and  his 
beetling  brows  and  unusually  heavy  eyelids  looked  stern 
and  formidable.  Her  heart  sank.  She  looked  again 
and  saw  goodness,  tenderness,  sorrow,  canny  shrewd 
ness,  and  a  strange  lurking  smile  all  haunting  his 
mouth  and  eye. 

Suddenly  he  threw  himself  forward  in  his  chair,  wheeled 
and  faced  one  of  his  tormentors  with  a  curious  and  comical 
expression.  With  one  hand  patting  the  other,  and  a 
funny  look  overspreading  his  face,  he  said : 

"  My  friend,  let  me  tell  you  something "  / 

The  man  again  stepped  before  him,  and  she  could  hear 
nothing.  When  the  story  was  finished,  the  man  tried  to 
laugh.  It  died  in  a  feeble  effort.  But  the  President 
laughed  heartily,  laughed  all  over,  and  laughed  his  visitors 
out  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Cameron  turned  toward  Elsie  with  a  mute  look  of 
appeal  to  give  her  this  moment  of  good-humour  in  which 
to  plead  her  cause,  but  before  she  could  move  a  man  of 
military  bearing  suddenly  stepped  before  the  President. 

He  began  to  speak,  but,  seeing  the  look  of  stern  decision 
in  Mr.  Lincoln's  face,  turned  abruptly  and  said : 

"Mr.  President,  I  see  you  are  fully  determined  not  to 
do  me  justice!" 

Mr.  Lincoln  slightly  compressed  his  lips,  rose  quietly, 
seized  the  intruder  by  the  arm,  and  led  him  toward  the 
door. 

"This  is  the  third  time  you  have  forced  your  presence 
on  me.  sir.  asking  that  I  reverse  the  just  sentence  of  a 


The  Great  Heart  27 

court-martial,  dismissing  you  from  the  service.  I  told 
you  my  decision  was  carefully  made  and  was  final.  Now 
I  give  you  fair  warning  never  to  show  yourself  in  this  room 
again.  I  can  bear  censure,  but  I  will  not  endure  insult ! " 

In  whining  tones,  the  man  begged  for  his  papers  he  had 
dropped. 

"Begone,  sir,"  said  the  President,  as  he  thrust  him 
through  the  door.  "Your  papers  will  be  sent  to  you." 

The  poor  mother  trembled  at  this  startling  act  and  sank 
back  limp  in  her  seat. 

With  quick,  swinging  stride  the  President  walked  back 
to  his  desk,  accompanied  by  Major  Hay  and  a  young 
German  girl,  whose  simple  dress  told  that  she  was  from 
the  Western  plains. 

He  handed  the  Secretary  an  official  paper. 

"  Give  this  pardon  to  the  boy's  mother  when  she  comes 
this  morning,"  he  said  kindly  to  the  Secretary,  his  eyes 
suddenly  full  of  gentleness. 

"  How  could  I  consent  to  shoot  a  boy  raised  on  a  farm, 
in  the  habit  of  going  to  bed  at  dark,  for  falling  asleep  at  his 
post  when  required  to  watch  all  night  ?  I'll  never  go  into 
eternity  with  the  blood  of  such  a  boy  on  my  skirts." 

Again  the  mother's  heart  rose. 

"You  remember  the  young  man  I  pardoned  for  a 
similar  offence  in  '62,  about  which  Stanton  made  such  a 
fuss?"  he  went  on  in  softly  reminiscent  tones.  "Well, 
here  is  that  pardon." 

He  drew  from  the  lining  of  his  silk  hat  a  photograph, 
around  which  was  wrapped  an  executive  pardon.  Through 
the  lower  end  of  it  was  a  bullet-hole  stained  with  blood. 


28  The  Clansman 

"I  got  this  in  Richmond.  They  found  him  dead  on 
the  field.  He  fell  in  the  front  ranks  with  my  photograph 
in  his  pocket  next  to  his  heart,  this  pardon  wrapped 
around  it,  and  on  the  back  of  it  in  his  boy's  scrawl,  '  God 
bless  Abraham  Lincoln.'  I  love  to  invest  in  bonds  like 
that." 

The  Secretary  returned  to  his  room,  the  girl  who  was 
waiting  stepped  forward,  and  the  President  rose  to  receive 
her. 

The  mother's  quick  eye  noted,  with  surprise,  the 
simple  dignity  and  chivalry  of  manner  with  which  he  re 
ceived  this  humble  woman  of  the  people. 

With  straightforward  eloquence  the  girl  poured  out 
her  story,  begging  for  the  pardon  of  her  young  brother 
who  had  been  sentenced  to  death  as  a  deserter.  He 
listened  in  silence. 

How  pathetic  the  deep  melancholy  of  his  sad  faee! 
Yes,  she  was  sure,  the  saddest  face  that  God  ever  made  in 
all  the  world!  Her  own  stricken  heart  for  a  moment 
went  out  to  him  in  sympathy. 

The  President  took  off  his  spectacles,  wiped  his 
forehead  with  the  large  red  silk  handkerchief  he 
carried,  and  his  eyes  twinkled  kindly  down  into  the 
good  German  face. 

"You  seem  an  honest,  truthful,  sweet  girl,"  he  said, 
"and" — he  smiled — "you  don't  wear  hoop-skirts!  I  may 
be  whipped  for  this,  but  I'll  trust  you  and  your  brother, 
too.  He  shall  be  pardoned." 

Elsie  rose  to  introduce  Mrs.  Cameron,  when  a  Congress 
man  from  Massachusetts  suddenly  stepped  before  her  and 


The  Great  Heart  29 

pressed  for  the  pardon  of  a  slave-trader  whose  ship  had 
been  confiscated.  He  had  spent  five  years  in  prison,  but 
could  not  pay  the  heavy  fine  in  money  imposed. 

The  President  had  taken  his  seat  again,  and  read  the 
eloquent  appeal  for  mercy.  He  looked  up  over  his 
spectacles,  fixed  his  eyes  piercingly  on  the  Congressman 
and  said: 

"This  is  a  moving  appeal,  sir,  expressed  with  great 
eloquence.  I  might  pardon  a  murderer  under  the  spell 
of  such  words,  but  a  man  who  can  make  a  business  of 
going  to  Africa  and  robbing  her  of  her  helpless  children 
and  selling  them  into  bondage — no,  sir — he  may  rot  in 
jail  before  he  shall  have  liberty  by  any  act  of  mine!" 

Again  the  mother's  heart  sank. 

Her  hour  had  come.  She  must  put  the  issue  of  life 
or  death  to  the  test,  and,  as  Elsie  rose  and  stepped  quickly 
forward,  she  followed,  nerving  herself  for  the  ordeal. 

The  President  took  Elsie's  hand  familiarly  and  smiled 
without  rising.  Evidently  she  was  well-known  to  him. 

"Will  you  hear  the  prayer  of  a  broken-hearted  mother 
of  the  South,  who  has  lost  four  sons  in  General  Lee's 
army?"  she  asked. 

Looking  quietly  past  the  girl,  he  caught  sight,  for  the 
first  time,  of  the  faded  dress  and  the  sorrow-shadowed  face. 

He  was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment,  extended  his  hand  and 
led  her  to  a  chair. 

"Take  this  seat,  Madam,  and  then  tell  me  in  your  own 
way  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

In  simple  words,  mighty  with  the  eloquence  of  a  mother's 
heart,  she  told  her  story  and  asked  for  the  pardon  of  her 


30  The  Clansman 

boy,  promising  his  word  of  honour  and  her  own  that  he 
would  never  again  take  up  arms  against  the  Union. 

"The  war  is  over  now,  Mr.  Lincoln,"  she  said,  "and 
we  have  lost  all.  Can  you  conceive  the  desolation  of  my 
heart  ?  My  four  boys  were  noble  men.  They  may  have 
been  wrong,  but  they  fought  for  what  they  believed  to  be 
right.  You,  too,  have  lost  a  boy." 

The  President's  eyes  grew  dim. 

"Yes,  a  beautiful  boy "  he  said,  simply. 

"Well,  mine  are  all  gone  but  this  baby.  One  of  them 
sleeps  in  an  unmarked  grave  at  Gettysburg.  One  died 
in  a  Northern  prison.  One  fell  at  Chancellors ville,  one  in 
the  Wilderness,  and  this,  my  baby,  before  Petersburg. 
Perhaps  I've  loved  him  too  much,  this  last  one — he's 
only  a  child  yet " 

"You  shall  have  your  boy,  my  dear  Madam,"  the 
President  said,  simply,  seating  himself  and  writing  a  brief 
order  to  the  Secretary  of  War. 

The  mother  drew  near  his  desk,  softly  crying.  Through 
her  tears  she  said : 

"My  heart  is  heavy,  Mr.  Lincoln,  when  I  think  of  all 
the  hard  and  bitter  things  we  have  heard  of  you." 

"Well,  give  my  love  to  the  people  of  South  Carolina, 
when  you  go  home,  and  tell  them  that  I  am  their  President, 
and  that  I  have  never  forgotten  this  fact  in  the  darkest 
hours  of  this  awful  war;  and  I  am  going  to  do  everything 
in  my  power  to  help  them." 

"You  will  never  regret  this  generous  act,"  the  mother 
cried  with  gratitude. 

"I  reckon  not,"  he  answered.     "I'll  tell  you  something, 


The  Great  Heart  31 

Madam,  if  you  won't  tell  anybody.  It's  a  secret  of  my 
administration.  I'm  only  too  glad  of  an  excuse  to  save 
a  life  when  I  can.  Every  drop  of  blood  shed  in  this  war 
North  and  South  has  been  as  if  it  were  wrung  out 
of  my  heart.  A  strange  fate  decreed  that  the  bloodiest 
war  in  human  history  should  be  fought  under  my  direction. 
And  I,  to  whom  the  sight  of  blood  is  a  sickening  horror 
— I  have  been  compelled  to  look  on  in  silent  anguish 
because  I  could  not  stop  it!  Now  that  the  Union  is 
saved,  not  another  drop  of  blood  shall  be  spilled  if  I  can 
prevent  it." 

"May  God  bless  you!"  the  mother  cried,  as  she  re 
ceived  from  him  the  order. 

She  held  his  hand  an  instant  as  she  took  her  leave, 
laughing  and  sobbing  in  her  great  joy. 

"I  must  tell  you,  Mr.  President,"  she  said,  "how  sur 
prised  and  how  pleased  I  am  to  find  you  are  a  Southern 
man." 

"Why,  didn't  you  know  that  my  parents  were  Virginians, 
and  that  I  was  born  in  Kentucky  ?  " 

"  Very  few  people  in  the  South  know  it.  I  am  ashamed 
to  say  I  did  not." 

"Then,  how  did  you  know  I  am  a  Southerner?" 

"By  your  looks,  your  manner  of  speech,  your  easy, 
kindly  ways,  your  tenderness  and  humour,  your  firmness 
in  the  right  as  you  see  it,  and,  above  all,  the  way  you  rose 
and  bowed  to  a  woman  in  an  old,  faded  black  dress,  whom 
you  knew  to  be  an  enemy." 

"No,  Madam,  not  an  enemy  now,"  he  said,  softly. 
"That  word  is  out  of  date." 


32  The  Clansman 

"If  we  had  only  known  you  in  time " 

The  President  accompanied  her  to  the  door  with  a 
deference  of  manner  that  showed  he  had  been  deeply 
touched. 

"Take  this  letter  to  Mr.  Stanton  at  once,"  he  said. 
"Some  folks  complain  of  my  pardons,  but  it  rests  me 
after  a  hard  day's  work  if  I  can  save  some  poor  boy's 
life.  I  go  to  bed  happy,  thinking  of  the  joy  I  have  given 
to  those  who  love  him." 

As  the  last  words  were  spoken,  a  peculiar  dreaminess 
of  expression  stole  over  his  care-worn  face,  as  if  a 
throng  of  gracious  memories  had  lifted  for  a  moment 
the  burden  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  MAN  OF  WAR 

ELSIE   led  Mrs.  Cameron   direct   from  the  White 
House  to  the  War  Department. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Cameron,  what  did  you  think  of 
the  President?"  she  asked. 

"I  hardly  know,"  was  the  thoughtful  answer.  "He  is 
the  greatest  man  I  ever  met.  One  feels  this  instinctively." 

When  Mrs.  Cameron  was  ushered  into  the  Secretary's 
Office,  Mr.  Stanton  was  seated  at  his  desk  writing. 

She  handed  the  order  of  the  President  to  a  clerk,  who 
gave  it  to  the  Secretary. 

He  was  a  man  in  the  full  prime  of  life,  intellectual  and 
physical,  low  and  heavy  set,  about  five  feet  eight  inches  in 
height  and  inclined  to  fat.  His  movements,  however, 
were  quick,  and  as  he  swung  in  his  chair  the  keenest 
vigour  marked  every  movement  of  body  and  every  change 
of  his  countenance. 

His  face  was  swarthy  and  covered  with  a  long,  dark 
beard  touched  with  gray.  He  turned  a  pair  of  little 
black  piercing  eyes  on  her  and  without  rising  said : 

"So  you  are  the  woman  who  has  a  wounded  son  under 
sentence  of  death  as  a  guerilla?" 

"I  am  so  unfortunate,"  she  answered. 

"Well,  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you,"  he  went  on  in 

33 


34  The  Clansman 

a  louder  and  sterner  tone,  "and  no  time  to  waste  on  you. 
If  you  have  raised  up  men  to  rebel  against  the  best 
government  under  the  sun,  you  can  take  the  conse 
quences " 

"But,  my  dear  sir,"  broke  in  the  mother,  "he  is  a  mere 
boy  of  nineteen,  who  ran  away  three  years  ago  and 
entered  the  service " 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  another  word  from  you!"  he 
yelled  in  rage.  "I  have  no  time  to  waste — go  at  once. 
I'll  do  nothing  for  you." 

"But  I  bring  you  an  order  from  the  President,"  pro 
tested  the  mother. 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  he  answered,  with  a  sneer,  "and  I'll 
do  with  it  what  I've  done  with  many  others — see  that  it 
is  not  executed — now  go." 

"But  the  President  told  me  you  would  give  me  a  pass  to 
the  hospital,  and  that  a  full  pardon  would  be  issued  to 
my  boy!" 

"Yes,  I  see.  But  let  me  give  you  some  information. 

The  President  is  a  fool — a  d fool!  Now,  will  you 

go?" 

With  a  sinking  sense  of  horror,  Mrs.  Cameron  withdrew 
and  reported  to  Elsie  the  unexpected  encounter. 

"The  brute!"  cried  the  girl.  "We'll  go  back  im 
mediately  and  report  this  insult  to  the  President." 

"Why  are  such  men  intrusted  with  power?"  the 
mother  sighed. 

"It's  a  mystery  to  me,  I'm  sure.  They  say  he  is  the 
greatest  Secretary  of  War  in  our  history.  I  don't  believe 
it.  Phil  hates  the  sight  of  him,  and  so  does  every  army 


The  Man  of  War  35 

officer  I  know,  from  General  Grant  down.  I  hope  Mr. 
Lincoln  will  expel  him  from  the  Cabinet  for  this  insult." 

When  they  were  again  ushered  into  the  President's 
office,  Elsie  hastened  to  inform  him  of  the  outrageous 
reply  the  Secretary  of  War  had  made  to  his  order. 

"Did  Stanton  say  that  I  was  a  fool ?"  he  asked,  with  a 
quizzical  look  out  of  his  kindly  eyes. 

"Yes,  he  did,"  snapped  Elsie.  "And  he  repeated  it 
with  a  blankety  prefix." 

The  President  looked  good-humouredly  out  of  the 
window  toward  the  War  Office  and  musingly  said : 

"Well,  if  Stanton  says  that  I  am  a  blankety  fool,  it 
must  be  so,  for  I  have  found  out  that  he  is  nearly  always 
right,  and  generally  means  what  he  says.  I'll  just  step 
over  and  see  Stanton." 

As  he  spoke  the  last  sentence,  the  humour  slowly  faded 
from  his  face,  and  the  anxious  mother  saw  back  of  those 
patient  gray  eyes  the  sudden  gleam  of  the  courage  and 
conscious  power  of  a  lion. 

He  dismissed  them  with  instructions  to  return  the  next 
day  for  his  final  orders  and  walked  over  to  the  War 
Department  alone. 

The  Secretary  of  War  was  in  one  of  his  ugliest  moods, 
and  made  no  effort  to  conceal  it  when  asked  his  reasons 
for  the  refusal  to  execute  the  order. 

"The  grounds  for  my  action  are  very  simple,"  he  said, 
with  bitter  emphasis.  "The  execution  of  this  traitor  is 
part  of  a  carefully  considered  policy  of  justice  on  which 
the  future  security  of  the  Nation  depends.  If  I  am  to 
administer  this  office,  I  will  not  be  hamstrung  by  constant 


36  The  Clansman 

Executive  interference.  Besides,  in  this  particular  case, 
I  was  urged  that  justice  be  promptly  executed  by  the  most 
powerful  man  in  Congress.  I  advise  you  to  avoid  a 
quarrel  with  old  Stoneman  at  this  crisis  in  our  history." 

The  President  sat  on  a  sofa  with  his  legs  crossed,  re 
lapsed  into  an  attitude  of  resignation,  and  listened  in 
silence  until  the  last  sentence,  when  suddenly  he  sat  bolt 
upright,  fixed  his  deep  gray  eyes  intently  on  Stanton  and 
said: 

"Mr.  Secretary,  I  reckon  you  will  have  to  execute  that 
order." 

"I  cannot  do  it,"  came  the  firm  answer.  "It  is  an 
interference  with  justice,  and  I  will  not  execute  it." 

Mr.  Lincoln  held  his  eyes  steadily  on  Stanton  and 
slowly  said: 

"Mr.  Secretary,  it  will  have  to  be  done." 

Stanton  wheeled  in  his  chair,  seized  a  pen  and  wrote 
very  rapidly  a  few  lines  to  which  he  fixed  his  signature. 
He  rose  with  the  paper  in  his  hand,  walked  to  his  chief, 
and,  with  deep  emotion,  said: 

"Mr.  President,  I  wish  to  thank  you  for  your  constant 
friendship  during  the  trying  years  I  have  held  this  office. 
The  war  is  ended,  and  my  work  is  done.  I  hand  you  my 
resignation." 

Mr.  Lincoln's  lips  came  suddenly  together,  he  slowly 
rose,  and  looked  down  with  surprise  into  the  flushed 
angry  face. 

He  took  the  paper,  tore  it  into  pieces,  slipped  one  of 
his  long  arms  around  the  Secretary  and  said  in  low 
accents : 


The  Man  of  War 


37 


"Stanton,  you  have  been  a  faithful  public  servant,  and 
it  is  not  for  you  to  say  when  you  will  be  no  longer  needed. 
Go  on  with  your  work.  I  will  have  my  way  in  this 
matter;  but  I  will  attend  to  it  personally." 

Stanton  resumed  his  seat,  and  the  President  returned  to 
the  White  House. 


CHAPTER  IV 
A  CLASH  OF  GIANTS 

ELSIE  secured  from  the  Surgeon-General  temporary 
passes  for  the   day,  and  sent  her  friends  to  the 
hospital  with  the  promise  that  she  would  not  leave 
the  White  House  until  she  had  secured  the  pardon. 

The  President  greeted  her  with  unusual  warmth.  The 
smile  that  had  only  haunted  his  sad  face  during  four  years 
of  struggle,  defeat,  and  uncertainty  had  now  burst  into 
joy  that  made  his  powerful  head  radiate  light.  Victory 
had  lifted  the  veil  from  his  soul,  and  he  was  girding  him 
self  for  the  task  of  healing  the  Nation's  wounds. 

"I'll  have  it  ready  for  you  in  a  moment,  Miss  Elsie," 
he  said,  touching  with  his  sinewy  hand  a  paper  which  lay 
on  his  desk,  bearing  on  its  face  the  red  seal  of  the  Repub 
lic.  "I  am  only  waiting  to  receive  the  passes." 

"I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  Mr.  President,"  the  girl 
said,  feelingly. 

"But  tell  me,"  he  said,  with  quaint,  fatherly  humour, 
"why  you,  of  all  our  girls,  the  brightest,  fiercest  little 
Yankee  in  town,  take  so  to  heart  a  rebel  boy's  sorrows  ? " 

Elsie  blushed,  and  then  looked  at  him  frankly  with  a 
saucy  smile. 

"I  am  fulfilling  the  Commandments." 

"Love  your  enemies?" 

38 


A  Clash  of  Giants  39 

"Certainly.  How  could  one  help  loving  the  sweet, 
motherly  face  you  saw  yesterday." 

The  President  laughed  heartily.  "  I  see — of  course,  of 
course!" 

"The  Honourable  Austin  Stoneman,"  suddenly  an 
nounced  a  clerk  at  his  elbow. 

Elsie  started  in  surprise  and  whispered: 

"Do  not  let  my  father  know  I  am  here.  I  will  wait 
in  the  next  room.  You'll  let  nothing  delay  the  pardon, 
will  you,  Mr.  President?" 

Mr.  Lincoln  warmly  pressed  her  hand  as  she  disap 
peared  through  the  door  leading  into  Major  Hay's  room, 
and  turned  to  meet  the  Great  Commoner  who  hobbled 
slowly  in,  leaning  on  his  crooked  cane. 

At  this  moment  he  was  a  startling  and  portentous  fig 
ure  in  the  drama  of  the  Nation,  the  most  powerful  parlia 
mentary  leader  in  American  history,  not  excepting  Henry 
Clay.  ' 

No  stranger  ever  passed  this  man  without  a  second 
look.  His  clean-shaven  face,  the  massive  chiselled  fea 
tures,  his  grim  eagle  look  and  cold,  colourless  eyes,  with 
the  frosts  of  his  native  Vermont  sparkling  in  their  depths, 
compelled  attention. 

His  walk  was  a  painful  hobble.  He  was  lame  in 
both  feet,  and  one  of  them  was  deformed.  The  left  leg 
ended  in  a  mere  bunch  of  flesh,  resembling  more  closely 
an  elephant's  hoof  than  the  foot  of  a  man. 

He  was  absolutely  bald,  and  wore  a  heavy  brown  wig 
that  seemed  too  small  to  reach  to  the  edge  of  his  enormous 
forehead. 


40  The  Clansman 

He  rarely  visited  the  White  House.  He  was  the  able, 
bold,  unscrupulous  leader  of  leaders,  and  men  came  to 
see  him.  He  rarely  smiled,  and  when  he  did  it  was  the 
smile  of  the  cynic  and  misanthrope.  His  tongue  had  the 
lash  of  a  scorpion.  He  was  a  greater  terror  to  the  trim 
mers  and  time-servers  of  his  own  party  than  to  his  politi 
cal  foes.  He  had  hated  the  President  with  sullen,  con 
sistent,  and  unyielding  venom  from  his  first  nomination  at 
Chicago  down  to  the  last  rumour  of  his  new  proclamation. 

In  temperament  a  fanatic,  in  impulse  a  born  revolu 
tionist,  the  word  conservatism  was  to  him  as  a  red  rag  to 
a  bull.  The  first  clash  of  arms  was  music  to  his  soul. 
He  laughed  at  the  call  for  75,000  volunteers,  and  demanded 
the  immediate  equipment  of  an  army  of  a  million  men. 
He  saw  it  grow  to  2,000,000.  From  the  first,  his  eagle 
eye  had  seen  the  end  and  all  the  long,  blood-marked  way 
between.  And  from  the  first,  he  began  to  plot  the  most 
cruel  and  awful  vengeance  in  human  history. 

And  now  his  time  had  come. 

The  giant  figure  in  the  White  House  alone  had  dared 
to  brook  his  anger  and  block  the  way;  for  old  Stoneman 
was  the  Congress  of  the  United  States.  The  opposition 
was  too  weak  even  for  his  contempt.  Cool,  deliberate, 
and  venomous,  alike  in  victory  or  defeat,  the  fascination 
of  his  positive  faith  and  revolutionary  programme  had 
drawn  the  rank  and  file  of  his  party  in  Congress  to  him 
as  charmed  satellites. 

The  President  greeted  him  cordially,  and  with  his 
habitual  deference  to  age  and  physical  infirmity  hastened 
to  place  for  him  an  easy  chair  near  his  desk. 


A  Clash  of  Giants  41 

He  was  breathing  heavily  and  evidently  labouring  under 
great  emotion.  He  brought  his  cane  to  the  floor  with 
violence,  placed  both  hands  on  its  crook,  leaned  his 
massive  jaws  on  his  hands  for  a  moment,  and  then 
said: 

"Mr.  President,  I  have  not  annoyed  you  with  many  re 
quests  during  the  past  four  years,  nor  am  I  here  to-day 
to  ask  any  favours.  I  have  come  to  warn  you  that,  in  the 
course  you  have  mapped  out,  the  executive  and  legisla 
tive  branches  have  come  to  the  parting  of  the  ways,  and 
that  your  encroachments  on  the  functions  of  Congress 
will  be  tolerated,  now  that  the  Rebellion  is  crushed,  not 
for  a  single  moment!" 

Mr.  Lincoln  listened  with  dignity,  and  a  ripple  of  fun 
played  about  his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  his  grim  visitor. 
The  two  men  were  face  to  face  at  last, — the  two  men 
above  all  others  who  had  built  and  were  to  build  the 
foundations  of  the  New  Nation, — Lincoln's  in  love  and 
wisdom  to  endure  forever,  the  Great  Commoner's  in  hate 
and  madness,  to  bear  its  harvest  of  tragedy  and  death 
for  generations  yet  unborn. 

"Well,  now,  Stoneman,"  began  the  good-humoured 
voice,  "that  puts  me  in  mind " 

The  old  Commoner  lifted  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of 
angry  impatience: 

"Save  your  fables  for  fools.  Is  it  true  that  you  have 
prepared  a  proclamation  restoring  the  conquered  prov 
ince  of  North  Carolina  to  its  place  as  a  state  in  the  Union 
with  no  provision  for  Negro  suffrage  or  the  exile  and  dis- 
franchisement  of  its  rebels?" 


42  The  Clansman 

The  President  rose  and  walked  back  and  forth  with 
his  hands  folded  behind  him,  before  answering. 

"I  have.  The  Constitution  grants  to  the  National 
Government  no  power  to  regulate  suffrage,  and  makes  no 
provision  for  the  control  of  '  conquered  provinces.' " 

"Constitution!"  thundered  Stoneman.  "I  have  a 
hundred  constitutions  in  the  pigeon-holes  of  my  desk!" 

"I  have  sworn  to  support  but  one." 

"A  worn-out  rag " 

"Rag  or  silk,  I've  sworn  to  execute  it,  and  I'll  do  it,  so 
help  me  God!"  said  the  quiet  voice. 

"You've  been  doing  it  for  the  past  four  years,  haven't 
you!"  sneered  the  Commoner.  "What  right  had  y6u 
under  the  Constitution  to  declare  war  against  a  '  sovereign ' 
state?  To  invade  one  for  coercion?  To  blockade  a 
port?  To  declare  slaves  free?  To  suspend  the  writ  of 
habeas  corpus?  To  create  the  state  of  West  Virginia  by 
the  consent  of  two  states,  one  of  which  was  dead,  and  the 
other  one  of  which  lived  in  Ohio  ?  By  what  authority 
have  you  appointed  military  governors  in  the  'sovereign' 
states  of  Virginia,  Tennessee,  and  Louisiana?  Why 
trim  the  hedge  and  lie  about  it?  We,  too,  are  revolu 
tionists,  and  you  are  our  executive.  The  Constitution 
sustained  and  protected  slavery.  It  was  'a  league  with 
death  and  a  covenant  with  hell,'  and  our  flag  'a  polluted 
rag'!" 

"In  the  stress  of  war,"  said  the  President,  with  a  far 
away  look,  "it  was  necessary  that  I  do  things  as  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  of  the  Army  and  Navy  to  save  the  Union 
which  I  have  no  right  to  do  now  that  the  Union  is  saved 


A  Clash  of  Giants  43 

and  its  Constitution  preserved.  My  first  duty  is  to  re 
establish  the  Constitution  as  our  supreme  law  over  every 
inch  of  our  soil." 

"The  Constitution  be  d d!"  hissed  the  old  man. 

"It  was  the  creation,  both  in  letter  and  spirit, of  the  slave 
holders  of  the  South." 

"Then  the  world  is  their  debtor,  and  their  work  is  a 
monument  of  imperishable  glory  to  them  and  to  their 
children.  I  have  sworn  to  preserve  it!" 

"We  have  outgrown  the  swaddling  clothes  of  a  babe. 
We  will  make  new  constitutions!" 

"'Fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread/"  softly 
spoke  the  tall,  self-contained  man. 

For  the  first  time  the  old  leader  winced.  He  had  long 
ago  exhausted  the  vocabulary  of  contempt  on  the  Presi 
dent,  his  character,  ability,  and  policy.  He  felt  as  a 
shock  the  first  impression  of  supreme  authority  with  which 
he  spoke.  The  man  he  had  despised  had  grown  into  the 
great  constructive  statesman  who  would  dispute  with  him 
every  inch  of  ground  in  the  attainment  of  his  sinister 
life-purpose. 

His  hatred  grew  more  intense  as  he  realised  the  pres 
tige  and  power  with  which  he  was  clothed  by  his  mighty 
office. 

With  an  effort  he  restrained  his  anger,  and  assumed  an 
argumentative  tone. 

"Can't  you  see  that  your  so-called  states  are  now  but 
conquered  provinces?  That  North  Carolina  and  other 
waste  territories  of  the  United  States  are  unfit  to  associ 
ate  with  civilised  communities?" 


44  The  Clansman 

"We  fought  no  war  of  conquest,"  quietly  urged  the 
President,  "but  one  of  self-preservation  as  an  indissoluble 
Union.  No  state  ever  got  out  of  it,  by  the  grace  of  God 
and  the  power  of  our  arms.  Now  that  we  have  won, 
and  established  for  all  time  its  unity,  shall  we  stultify 
ourselves  by  declaring  we  were  wrong?  These  states 
must  be  immediately  restored  to  their  rights,  or  we  shall 
betray  the  blood  we  have  shed.  There  are  no  '  con 
quered  provinces'  for  us  to  spoil.  A  nation  cannot  make 
conquest  of  its  own  territory." 

"But  we  are  acting  outside  the  Constitution,"  inter 
rupted  Stoneman. 

"Congress  has  no  existence  outside  the  Constitution," 
was  the  quick  answer. 

The  old  Commoner  scowled,  and  his  beetling  brows 
hid  for  a  moment  his  eyes.  His  keen  intellect  was  catch 
ing  its  first  glimpse  of  the  intellectual  grandeur  of  the  man 
with  whom  he  was  grappling.  The  facility  with  which 
he  could  see  all  sides  of  a  question,  and  the  vivid  imagi 
nation  which  lit  his  mental  processes,  were  a  revelation. 
We  always  underestimate  the  men  we  despise. 

"Why  not  out  with  it?"  cried  Stoneman,  suddenly 
changing  his  tack.  "You  are  determined  to  oppose 
Negro  suffrage?" 

"I  have  suggested  to  Governor  Hahn  of  Louisiana  to 
consider  the  policy  of  admitting  the  more  intelligent  and 
those  who  served  in  the  war.  It  is  only  a  suggestion. 
The  state  alone  has  the  power  to  confer  the  ballot." 

"But  the  truth  is  this  little  'suggestion'  of  yours  is  only 
a  bone  thrown  to  radical  dogs  to  satisfy  our  bowlings  for 


A  Clash  of  Giants  45 

the  moment!  In  your  soul  of  souls,  you  don't  believe  in 
the  equality  of  man  if  the  man  under  comparison  be  a 
negro?" 

"I  believe  that  there  is  a  physical  difference  between 
the  white  and  black  races  which  will  forever  forbid  their 
living  together  on  terms  of  political  and  social  equality. 
If  such  be  attempted,  one  must  go  to  the  wall."  ;>  \ 

"Very  well,  pin  the  Southern  white  man  to  the  wall. 
Our  party  and  the  Nation  will  then  be  safe." 

"That  is  to  say,  destroy  African  slavery  and  establish 
white  slavery  under  Negro  masters!  That  would  be 
progress  with  a  vengeance." 

A  grim  smile  twitched  the  old  man's  lips  as  he  said: 

"Yes,  your  prim  conservative  snobs  and  male  waiting- 
maids  in  Congress  went  into  hysterics  when  I  armed  the 
negroes.  Yet  the  heavens  have  not  fallen." 

"True.  Yet  no  more  insane  blunder  could  now  be 
made  than  any  further  attempt  to  use  these  Negro  troops. 
There  can  be  no  such  thing  as  restoring  this  Union  to  its 
basis  of  fraternal  peace  with  armed  negroes,  wearing  the 
uniform  of  this  Nation,  tramping  over  the  South,  and 
rousing  the  basest  passions  of  the  freedmen  and  their 
former  masters.  General  Butler,  their  old  commander, 
is  now  making  plans  for  their  removal,  at  my  request. 
He  expects  to  dig  the  Panama  Canal  with  these  black 
troops. 

"Fine  scheme  that — on  a  par  with  your  messages  to 
Congress  asking  for  the  colonisation  of  the  whole  Negro 
race!" 

"It  will  come  to  that  ultimately,"  said  the  President, 


46  The  Clansman 

firmly.  "The  Negro  has  cost  us  $5,000,000,000,  the  deso 
lation  of  ten  great  states,  and  rivers  of  blood.  We  can 
well  afford  a  few  million  dollars  more  to  effect  a  permanent 
settlement  of  the  issue.  This  is  the  only  policy  on  which 
Seward  and  I  have  differed " 

"Then  Seward  was  not  an  utterly  hopeless  fool.  I'm 
glad  to  hear  something  to  his  credit,"  growled  the  old 
Commoner. 

"I  have  urged  the  colonisation  of  the  negroes,  and  I 
shall  continue  until  it  is  accomplished.  My  emancipa 
tion  proclamation  was  linked  with  this  plan.  Thousands 
of  them  have  lived  in  the  North  for  a  hundred  years,  yet 
not  one  is  the  pastor  of  a  white  church,  a  judge,  a  governor, 
a  mayor,  or  a  college  president.  There  is  no  room  for  two 
distinct  races  of  white  men  in  America,  much  less  for  two 
distinct  races  of  whites  and  blacks.  We  can  have  no  in 
ferior  servile  class,  peon  or  peasant.  We  must  assimilate 
or  expel.  The  American  is  a  citizen  king  or  nothing.  I 
can  conceive  of  no  greater  calamity  than  the  assimilation 
of  the  Negro  into  our  social  and  political  life  as  our  equal. 
A  mulatto  citizenship  would  be  too  dear  a  price  to  pay 
even  for  emancipation." 

"Words  have  no  power  to  express  my  loathing  for  such 
twaddle!"  cried  Stoneman,  snapping  his  great  jaws  to 
gether  and  pursing  his  lips  with  contempt. 

"If  the  Negro  were  not  here  would  we  allow  him  to 
land?"  the  President  went  on,  as  if  talking  to  him 
self.  "The  duty  to  exclude  carries  the  right  to  expel. 
Within  twenty  years,  we  can  peacefully  colonise  the  Negro 
in  the  tropics,  and  give  him  our  language,  literature, 


A  Clash  of  Giants  47 

religion,  and  system  of  government  under  conditions  in 
which  he  can  rise  to  the  full  measure  of  manhood.  This 
he  can  never  do  here.  It  was  the  fear  of  the  black  tragedy 
behind  emancipation  that  led  the  South  into  the  insanity 
of  secession.  We  can  never  attain  the  ideal  Union  our 
fathers  dreamed,  with  millions  of  an  alien,  inferior  race 
among  us,  whose  assimilation  is  neither  possible  nor  de 
sirable.  The  Nation  cannot  now  exist  half  white  and 
half  black,  any  more  than  it  could  exist  half  slave  and 
half  free." 

"Yet  'God  hath  made  of  one  blood  all  races,'"  quoted 
the  cynic  with  a  sneer. 

"Yes — but  finish  the  sentence — 'and  fixed  the  bounds 
of  their  habitation.'  God  never  meant  that  the  Negro 
should  leave  his  habitat  or  the  white  man  invade  his  home. 
Our  violation  of  this  law  is  written  in  two  centuries  of 
shame  and  blood.  And  the  tragedy  will  not  be  closed 
until  the  black  man  is  restored  to  his  home." 

"I  marvel  that  the  minions  of  slavery  elected  Jeff. 
Davis  their  chief  with  so  much  better  material  at  hand!" 

"His  election  was  a  tragic  and  superfluous  blunder.  I 
am  the  President  of  the  United  States,  North  and  South," 
was  the  firm  reply. 

"Particularly  the  South!"  hissed  Stoneman.  "During 
all  this  hideous  war,  they  have  been  your  pets — these 
rebel  savages  who  have  been  murdering  our  sons.  You 
have  been  the  ever-ready  champion  of  traitors.  And  you 
now  dare  to  bend  this  high  office  to  their  defence " 

"My  God,  Stoneman,  are  you  a  man  or  a  savage!" 
cried  the  President.  "Is  not  the  North  equally  respon- 


48  The  Clansman 

sible  for  slavery?  Has  not  the  South  lost  all?  Have 
not  the  Southern  people  paid  the  full  penalty  of  all  the 
crimes  of  war?  Are  our  skirts  free?  Was  Sherman's 
march  a  picnic?  This  war  has  been  a  giant  conflict  of 
principles  to  decide  whether  we  are  a  bundle  of  petty 
sovereignties  held  by  a  rope  of  sand  or  a  mighty  nation  of 
freemen.  But  for  the  loyalty  of  four  border  Southern 
states — but  for  Farragut  and  Thomas  and  their  two 
hundred  thousand  heroic  Southern  brethren  who  fought 
for  the  Union  against  their  own  flesh  and  blood,  we  should 
have  lost.  You  cannot  indict  a  people " 

"I  do  indict  them!"  muttered  the  old  man. 

"Surely,"  went  on  the  even,  throbbing  voice,  "surely, 
the  vastness  of  this  war,  its  titanic  battles,  its  heroism, 
its  sublime  earnestness,  should  sink  into  oblivion  all  low 
schemes  of  vengeance!  Before  the  sheer  grandeur  of  its 
history,  our  children  will  walk  with  silent  lips  and  uncov 
ered  heads." 

"And  forget  the  prison-pen  at  Andersonville ! " 

"Yes.  We  refused,  as  a  policy  of  war,  to  exchange 
those  prisoners,  blockaded  their  ports,  made  medicine 
contrabrand,  and  brought  the  Southern  Army  itself  to 
starvation.  The  prison  records,  when  made  at  last  for 
history,  will  show  as  many  deaths  on  our  side  as  on  theirs." 

"The  murderer  on  the  gallows  always  wins  more  sym 
pathy  than  his  forgotten  victim,"  interrupted  the  cynic. 

"The  sin  of  vengeance  is  an  easy  one  under  the  subtle 
plea  of  justice,"  said  the  sorrowful  voice.  "Have  we  not 
had  enough  of  bloodshed?  Is  not  God's  vengeance 
enough?  When  Sherman's  army  swept  to  the  sea,  be- 


A  Clash  of  Giants  49 

fore  him  lay  the  Garden  of  Eden,  behind  him  stretched  a 
desert!  A  hundred  years  cannot  give  back  to  the  wasted 
South  her  wealth,  or  two  hundred  years  restore  to  her  the 
lost  seed  treasures  of  her  young  manhood " 

"The  imbecility  of  a  policy  of  mercy  in  this  crisis  can 
only  mean  the  reign  of  treason  and  violence,"  persisted 
the  old  man,  ignoring  the  President's  words. 

"I  leave  my  policy  before  the  judgment  bar  of  time, 
content  with  its  verdict.  In  my  place,  radicalism  would 
have  driven  the  border  states  into  the  Confederacy,  every 
Southern  man  back  to  his  kinsmen,  and  divided  the  North 
itself  into  civil  conflict.  I  have  sought  to  guide  and 
control  public  opinion  into  the  ways  on  which  depended 
our  life.  This  rational  flexibility  of  policy  you  and  your 
fellow  radicals  have  been  pleased  to  call  my  vacillating 
imbecility." 

"And  what  is  your  message  for  the  South?" 

"Simply  this:  'Abolish  slavery,  come  back  home,  and 
behave  yourself.'  Lee  surrendered  to  our  offers  of  peace 
and  amnesty.  In  my  last  message  to  Congress,  I  told 
the  Southern  people  they  could  have  peace  at  any  moment 
by  simply  laying  down  their  arms  and  submitting  to 
National  authority.  Now  that  they  have  taken  me  at 
my  word,  shall  I  betray  them  by  an  ignoble  revenge? 
Vengeance  cannot  heal  and  purify;  it  can  only  brutalise 
and  destroy." 

Stoneman  shuffled  to  his  feet  with  impatience. 

"I  see  it  is  useless  to  argue  with  you.  I'll  not  waste 
my  breath.  I  give  you  an  ultimatum.  The  South  is 
conquered  soil.  I  mean  to  blot  it  from  the  map.  Rather 


50  The  Clansman 

than  admit  one  traitor  to  the  halls  of  Congress  from  these 
so-called  states,  I  will  shatter  the  Union  itself  into  ten 
thousand  fragments!  I  will  not  sit  beside  men  whose 
clothes  smell  of  the  blood  of  my  kindred.  At  least  dry 
them  before  they  come  in.  Four  years  ago,  with  yells  and 
curses,  these  traitors  left  the  halls  of  Congress  to  join  the 
armies  of  Catiline.  Shall  they  return  to  rule?" 

"I  repeat,"  said  the  President,  "you  cannot  indict  a 
people.  Treason  is  an  easy  word  to  speak.  A  traitor 
is  one  who  fights  and  loses.  Washington  was  a  traitor  to 
George  III.  Treason  won,  and  Washington  is  immortal. 
Treason  is  a  word  that  victors  hurl  at  those  who  fail." 

"Listen  to  me,"  Stoneman  interrupted  with  vehemence. 
"The  life  of  our  party  demands  that  the  Negro  be  given 
the  ballot  and  made  the  ruler  of  the  South.  This  can 
be  done  only  by  the  extermination  of  its  landed  aristoc 
racy,  that  their  mothers  shall  not  breed  another  race  of 
traitors.  This  is  not  vengeance.  It  is  justice,  it  is  pa 
triotism,  it  is  the  highest  wisdom  and  humanity.  Nature, 
at  times,  blots  out  whole  communities  and  races  that  ob 
struct  progress.  Such  is  the  political  genius  of  these 
people  that,  unless  you  make  the  Negro  the  ruler,  the  South 
will  yet  reconquer  the  North  and  undo  the  work  of  this 
war." 

"If  the  South  in  poverty  and  ruin  can  do  this,  we  de 
serve  to  be  ruled!  The  North  is  rich  and  powerful — the 
South,  a  land  of  wreck  and  tomb.  I  greet  with  wonder, 
shame,  and  scorn  such  ignoble  fear!  The  Nation  cannot 
be  healed  until  the  South  is  healed.  Let  the  gulf  be  closed 
in  which  we  bury  slavery,  sectional  animosity,  and  all 


A  Clash  of  Giants  51 

strifes  and  hatreds.  The  good  sense  of  our  people  will 
never  consent  to  your  scheme  of  insane  vengeance." 

"The  people  have  no  sense.  A  new  fool  is  born  every 
second.  They  are  ruled  by  impulse  and  passion." 

"I  have  trusted  them  before,  and  they  have  not  failed 
me.  The  day  I  left  for  Gettysburg  to  dedicate  the  battle 
field,  you  were  so  sure  of  my  defeat  in  the  approaching 
convention  that  you  shouted  across  the  street  to  a  friend 
as  I  passed,  'Let  the  dead  bury  the  dead!'  It  was  a  bril 
liant  sally  of  wit.  I  laughed  at  it  myself.  And  yet  the 
people  unanimously  called  me  again  to  lead  them  to 
victory." 

"Yes,  in  the  past,"  said  Stoneman,  bitterly,  "you  have 
triumphed,  but  mark  my  word :  from  this  hour  your  star 
grows  dim.  The  slumbering  fires  of  passion  will  be 
kindled.  In  the  fight  we  join  to-day,  I'll  break  your  back 
and  wring  the  neck  of  every  dastard  and  time-server  who 
fawns  at  your  feet." 

The  President  broke  into  a  laugh  that  only  increased 
the  old  man's  wrath. 

"I  protest  against  the  insult  of  your  buffoonery!" 

"Excuse  me,  Stoneman;  I  have  to  laugh  or  die  beneath 
the  burdens  I  bear,  surrounded  by  such  supporters!" 

"Mark  my  word,"  growled  the  old  leader,  "from  the 
moment  you  publish  that  North  Carolina  proclamation, 
your  name  will  be  a  by-word  in  Congress." 

"There  are  higher  powers." 

"You  will  need  them." 

"Ill  have  help,"  was  the  calm  reply,  as  the  dreaminess 
of  the  poet  and  mystic  stole  over  the  rugged  face.  "I 


52  The  Clansman 

would  be  a  presumptuous  fool,  indeed,  if  I  thought  that 
for  a  day  I  could  discharge  the  duties  of  this  great  office 
without  the  aid  of  One  who  is  wiser  and  stronger  than 
all  others." 

"You'll  need  the  help  of  Almighty  God  in  the  course 
you've  mapped  out!" 

"Some  ships  come  into  port  that  are  not  steered,"  went 
on  the  dreamy  voice.  "Suppose  Pickett  had  charged 
one  hour  earlier  at  Gettysburg?  Suppose  the  Monitor 
had  arrived  one  hour  later  at  Hampton  Roads?  I  had 
a  dream  last  night  that  always  presages  great  events. 
I  saw  a  white  ship  passing  swiftly  under  full  sail.  I  have 
often  seen  her  before.  I  have  never  known  her  port  of 
entry  or  her  destination,  but  I  have  always  known  her 
Pilot!" 

The  cynic's  lips  curled  with  scorn.  He  leaned  heavily 
on  his  cane,  and  took  a  shambling  step  toward  the  door. 

"You  refuse  to  heed  the  wishes  of  Congress?" 

"If  your  words  voice  them,  yes.  Force  your  scheme 
of  revenge  on  the  South,  and  you  sow  the  wind  to  reap  the 
whirlwind." 

"Indeed!  and  from  what  secret  cave  will  this  whirl 
wind  come?" 

"The  despair  of  a  mighty  race  of  world-conquering 
men,  even  in  defeat,  is  still  a  force  that  statesmen  reckon 
with." 

"I  defy  them,"  growled  the  old  Commoner. 

Again  the  dreamy  look  returned  to  Lincoln's  face,  and 
he  spoke  as  if  repeating  a  message  of  the  soul  caught  in  the 
clouds  in  an  hour  of  transfiguration: 


A  Clash  of  Giants  53 

"And  I'll  trust  the  honour  of  Lee  and  his  people.  The 
mystic  chords  of  memory,  stretching  from  every  battle 
field  and  patriot  grave  to  every  living  heart  and  hearth 
stone  all  over  this  broad  land,  will  yet  swell  the  chorus  of 
the  Union,  when  touched  again,  as  they  surely  will  be,  by 
the  better  angels  of  our  nature." 

"You'll  be  lucky  to  live  to  hear  that  chorus." 

"To  dream  it  is  enough.  If  I  fall  by  the  hand  of  an 
assassin  now,  he  will  not  come  from  the  South.  I  was 
safer  in  Richmond,  this  week,  than  I  am  in  Washington, 
to-day." 

The  cynic  grunted  and  shuffled  another  step  toward  the 
door. 

The  President  came  closer. 

"Look  here,  Stoneman;  have  you  some  deep  personal 
motive  in  this  vengeance  on  the  South?  Come,  now, 
I've  never  in  my  life  known  you  to  tell  a  lie." 

The  answer  was  silence  and  a  scowl. 

"Am  I  right?" 

"Yes  and  no.  I  hate  the  South  because  I  hate  the 
Satanic  Institution  of  Slavery  with  consuming  fury.  It 
has  long  ago  rotted  the  heart  out  of  the  Southern  people. 
Humanity  cannot  live  in  its  tainted  air,  and  its  children 
are  doomed.  If  my  personal  wrongs  have  ordained  me 
for  a  mighty  task,  no  matter;  I  am  simply  the  chosen 
instrument  of  Justice  1" 

Again  the  mystic  light  clothed  the  rugged  face,  calm 
and  patient  as  Destiny,  as  the  President  slowly  repeated: 

"With  malice  toward  none,  with  charity  for  all,  with 
firmness  in  the  right,  as  God  gives  me  to  see  the  right,  I 


54  The  Clansman 

shall  strive  to  finish  the  work  we  are  in,  and  bind  up  the 
Nation's  wounds." 

"I've  given  you  fair  warning,"  cried  the  old  Commoner, 
trembling  with  rage,  as  he  hobbled  nearer  the  door. 
"From  this  hour  your  administration  is  doomed." 

"Stoneman,"  said  the  kindly  voice,  "I  can't  tell  you 
how  your  venomous  philanthropy  sickens  me.  You  have 
misunderstood  and  abused  me  at  every  step  during  the 
past  four  years.  I  bear  you  no  ill  will.  If  I  have  said 
anything  to-day  to  hurt  your  feelings,  forgive  me.  The 
earnestness  with  which  you  pressed  the  war  was  an  in 
valuable  service  to  me  and  to  the  Nation.  I'd  rather 
work  with  you  than  fight  you.  But  now  that  we  have 
to  fight,  I'd  as  well  tell  you  I'm  not  afraid  of  you.  I'll 
suffer  my  right  arm  to  be  severed  from  my  body  before 
I'll  sign  one  measure  of  ignoble  revenge  on  a  brave,  fallen 
foe,  and  I'll  keep  up  this  fight  until  I  win,  die,  or  my 
country  forsakes  me." 

"I  have  always  known  you  had  a  sneaking  admira 
tion  for  the  South,"  came  the  sullen  sneer. 

"I  love  the  South!  It  is  a  part  of  this  Union.  I  love 
every  foot  of  its  soil,  every  hill  and  valley,  mountain,  lake, 
and  sea,  and  every  man,  woman,  and  child  that  breathes 
beneath  its  skies.  I  am  an  American." 

As  the  burning  words  leaped  from  the  heart  of  the 
President,  the  broad  shoulders  of  his  tall  form  lifted, 
and  his  massive  head  rose  in  unconscious  heroic  pose. 

"I  marvel  that  you  ever  made  war  upon  your  loved 
ones!"  cried  the  cynic. 

"We  fought  the  South  because  we  loved  her  and  would 


A  Clash  of  Giants  55 

not  let  her  go.  Now  that  she  is  crushed  and  lies  bleeding 
at  our  feet — you  shall  not  make  war  on  the  wounded,  the 
dying,  and  the  dead!" 

Again  the  lion  gleamed  in  the  calm  gray  eyes. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  BATTLE  OF  LOVE 

ELSIE  carried  Ben  Cameron's  pardon  to  the  anxious 
mother    and  sister  with  her  mind  in  a  tumult. 
The  name  on  these  fateful   papers     fascinated 
her.     She  read  it  again  and  again  with  a  curious  personal 
joy  that  she  had  saved  a  life! 

She  had  entered  on  her  work  among  the  hospitals  a 
bitter  partisan  of  her  father's  school,  with  the  simple 
idea  that  all  Southerners  were  savage  brutes.  Yet  as  she 
had  seen  the  wounded  boys  from  the  South  among  the 
men  in  blue,  more  and  more  she  had  forgotten  the  differ 
ence  between  them.  They  were  so  young,  these  slender, 
dark-haired  ones  from  Dixie — so  pitifully  young!  Some 
of  them  were  only  fifteen,  and  hundreds  not  over  sixteen. 
A  lad  of  fourteen  she  had  kissed  one  day  in  sheer  agony 
of  pity  for  his  loneliness. 

The  part  her  father  was  playing  in  the  drama  on  which 
Ben  Cameron's  life  had  hung  puzzled  her.  Was  his  the 
mysterious  arm  back  of  Stanton?  Echoes  of  the  fierce 
struggle  with  the  President  had  floated  through  the  half- 
open  door. 

She  had  implicit  faith  in  her  father's  patriotism  and 
pride  in  his  giant  intellect.  She  knew  that  he  was  a  king 
among  men  by  divine  right  of  inherent  power.  His  sen- 

56 


The  Battle  of  Love  57 

sitive  spirit,  brooding  over  a  pitiful  lameness,  had  hiddeni 
from  the  world  behind  a  frowning  brow  like  a  wounded 
animal.  Yet  her  hand  in  hours  of  love,  when  no  eye  save; 
God's  could  see,  had  led  his  great  soul  out  of  its  dark 
lair.  She  loved  him  with  brooding  tenderness,  knowing- 
that  she  had  gotten  closer  to  his  inner  life  than  any  other 
human  being — closer  than  her  own  mother,  who  had  died 
while  she  was  a  babe.  Her  aunt,  with  whom  she  and 
Phil  now  lived,  had  told  her  the  mother's  life  was  not  a 
happy  one.  Their  natures  had  not  proved  congenial,  and 
her  gentle  Quaker  spirit  had  died  of  grief  in  the  quiet 
home  in  southern  Pennsylvania. 

Yet  there  were  times  when  he  was  a  stranger  even  to 
her.  Some  secret,  dark  and  cold,  stood  between  them. 
Once  she  had  tenderly  asked  him  what  it  meant.  He 
merely  pressed  her  hand,  smiled  wearily,  and  said: 

"Nothing,  my  dear,  only  the  Blue  Devils  after  me 
again." 

He  had  always  lived  in  Washington  in  a  little  house 
with  black  shutters,  near  the  Capitol,  while  the  children 
had  lived  with  his  sister,  near,  the  White  House,  where 
they  had  grown  from  babyhood. 

A  curious  fact  about  this  place  on  the  Capitol  hill 
was  that  his  housekeeper,  Lydia  Brown,  was  a  mu 
latto,  a  woman  of  extraordinary  animal  beauty  and  the 
fiery  temper  of  a  leopardess.  Elsie  had  ventured  there 
once  and  got  such  a  welcome  she  would  never  return. 
All  sorts  of  gossip  could  be  heard  in  Washington  about 
this  woman,  her  jewels,  her  dresses,  her  airs,  her  assump 
tion  of  the  dignity  of  the  presiding  genius  of  National  legis- 


58  The  Clansman 

\ 

lation  and  her  domination  of  the  old  Commoner  and  his 
life.  It  gradually  crept  into  the  newspapers  and  maga 
zines,  but  he  never  once  condescended  to  notice  it. 

Elsie  begged  her  father  to  close  this  house  and  live  with 
them. 

His  reply  was  short  and  emphatic: 

"Impossible,  my  child.  This  club-foot  must  live  next 
door  to  the  apitol.  My  house  is  simply  an  executive 
office  at  which  I  sleep.  Half  the  business  of  the  Nation 
is  transacted  there.  Don't  mention  this  subject  again." 

Elsie  choked  back  a  sob  at  the  cold  menace  in  the  tones 
of  this  command,  and  never  repeated  her  request.  It 
was  the  only  wish  he  had  ever  denied  her,  and,  somehow, 
her  heart  would  come  back  to  it  with  .persistence  and 
brood  and  wonder  over  his  motive. 

The  nearer  she  drew,  this  morning,  to  the  hospital 
door,  the  closer  the  wounded  boy's  life  and  loved  ones 
seemed  to  hers.  She  thought  with  anguish  of  the  storm 
about  to  break  between  her  father  and  the  President — 
the  one  demanding  the  desolation  of  their  land,  wasted, 
harried,  and  unarmed! — the  President  firm  in  his  policy 
of  mercy,  generosity,  and  healing. 

Her  father  would  not  mince  words.  His  scorpion 
tongue,  set  on  fires  of  hell,  might  start  a  conflagration 
that  would  light  the  Nation  with  its  glare.  Would  not  his 
name  be  a  terror  for  every  man  and  woman  born  under 
Southern  skies  ?  The  sickening  feeling  stole  over  her  that 
lie  was  wrong,  and  his  policy  cruel  and  unjust. 

She  had  never  before  admired  the  President.  It  was 
fashionable  to  speak  with  contempt  of  him  in  W&shmgtouu 


The  Battle  of  Love  59 

He  had  little  following  in  Congress.  Nine-tenths  of  the 
politicians  hated  or  feared  him,  and  she  knew  her  father 
had  been  the  soul  of  a  conspiracy  at  the  Capitol  to  pre 
vent  his  second  nomination  and  create  a  dictatorship, 
under  which  to  carry  out  an  iron  policy  of  reconstruction 
in  the  South.  And  now  she  found  herself  heart  and  soul 
the  champion  of  the  President. 

She  was  ashamed  of  her  disloyalty,  and  felt  a  rush  of 
impetuous  anger  against  Ben  and  his  people  for  thrusting 
themselves  between  her  and  her  own.  Yet  how  absurd 
to  feel  thus  against  the  innocent  victims  of  a  great  tragedy! 
She  put  the  thought  from  her.  Still  she  must  part  from 
them  now  before  the  brewing  storm  burst.  It  would  be 
best  for  her  and  best  for  them.  This  pardon  delivered 
would  end  their  relations.  She  would  send  the  papers 
by  a  messenger  and  not  see  them  again.  And  then  she 
thought  with  a  throb  of  girlish  pride  of  the  hour  to  come 
in  the  future  when  Ben's  big  brown  eyes  would  be  softened 
with  a  tear  when  he  would  learn  that  she  had  saved  his 
life.  They  had  concealed  all  from  him  as  yet. 

She  was  afraid  to  question  too  closely  in  her  own  heart 
the  shadowy  motive  that  lay  back  of  her  joy.  She  read 
again  with  a  lingering  smile  the  name  "  Ben  Cameron  "  on 
the  paper  with  its  big  red  Seal  of  Life.  She  had  laughed 
at  boys  who  had  made  love  to  her,  dreaming  a  wider, 
nobler  life  of  heroic  service.  And  she  felt  that  she  was 
fulfilling  her  ideal  in  the  generous  hand  she  had  ex 
tended  to  these  who  were  friendless.  Were  they  not  the 
children  of  her  soul  in  that  larger,  finer  world  of  which 
she  had  dreamed  and  sung?  Why  should  she  give  them 


60  The  Clansman 

up  now  for  brutal  politics  ?  Their  sorrow  had  been  hers, 
their  joy  should  be  hers  too.  She  would  take  the  papers 
herself  and  then  say  good-bye. 

She  found  the  mother  and  sister  beside  the  cot.  Ben 
was  sleeping  with  Margaret  holding  one  of  his  hands. 
The  mother  was  busy  sewing  for  the  wounded  Confederate 
boys  she  had  found  scattered  through  the  hospital. 

At  the  sight  of  Elsie  holding  aloft  the  message  of  life, 
she  sprang  to  meet  her  with  a  cry  of  joy. 

She  clasped  the  girl  to  her  breast,  unable  to  speak.  At 
last  she  released  her  and  said  with  a  sob: 

"My  child,  through  good  report  and  through  evil  report, 
my  love  will  enfold  you!" 

Elsie  stammered,  looked  away,  and  tried  to  hide  her 
emotion.  Margaret  had  knelt  and  bowed  her  head  on 
Ben's  cot.  She  rose  at  length,  threw  her  arms  around 
Elsie  in  a  resistless  impulse,  kissed  her  and  whispered: 

"My  sweet  sister!" 

Elsie's  heart  leaped  at  the  words,  as  her  eyes  rested  on 
the  face  of  the  sleeping  soldier 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  ASSASSINATION 

ELSIE  called  in  the  afternoon  at  the  Camerons* 
lodgings,  radiant  with  pride,  accompanied  by  her 
brother. 

Captain  Phil  Stoneman,  athletic,  bronzed,  a  veteran  of 
two  years'  service,  dressed  in  his  full  uniform,  was  the 
ideal  soldier,  and  yet  he  had  never  loved  war.  He  was 
bubbling  over  with  quiet  joy  that  the  end  had  come  and  he 
could  soon  return  to  a  rational  life.  Inheriting  his  mother's 
temperament,  he  was  generous,  enterprising,  quick,  intelli 
gent,  modest,  and  ambitious.  War  had  seemed  to  him 
a  horrible  tragedy  from  the  first.  He  had  early  learned  to 
respect  a  brave  foe,  and  bitterness  had  long  since  melted 
out  of  his  heart. 

He  had  laughed  at  his  father's  harsh  ideas  of  Southern 
life  gained  as  a  politician,  and,  while  loyal  to  him  after 
a  boy's  fashion,  he  took  no  stock  in  his  Radical  programme. 

The  father,  colossal  egotist  that  he  was,  heard  Phil's 
protests  with  mild  amusement  and  quiet  pride  in  his 
independence,  for  he  loved  this  boy  with  deep  tenderness. 

Phil  had  been  touched  by  the  story  of  Ben's  narrow 
escape,  and  was  anxious  to  show  his  mother  and  sister 
every  courtesy  possible  in  part  atonement  for  the  wrong 
he  felt  bad  been  done  them.  He  was  timid  with  girls, 

61 


62  The  Clansman 

and  yet  he  wished  to  give  Margaret  a  cordial  greeting  for 
Elsie's  sake.  He  was  not  prepared  for  the  shock  the 
first  appearance  of  the  Southern  girl  gave  him. 

When  the  stately  figure  swept  through  the  door  to  greet 
him,  her  black  eyes  sparkling  with  welcome,  her  voice  low 
and  tender  with  genuine  feeling,  he  caught  his  breath  in 
surprise. 

Elsie  noted  his  confusion  with  amusement  and  said: 

"I  must  go  to  the  hospital  for  a  little  work.  Now,  Phil, 
I'll  meet  you  at  the  door  at  eight  o'clock." 

"I'll  not  forget,"  he  answered  abstractedly,  watching 
Margaret  intently  as  she  walked  with  Elsie  to  the  door. 

He  saw  that  her  dress  was  of  coarse,  unbleached  cotton, 
dyed  with  the  juice  of  walnut  hulls  and  set  with  wooden 
hand-made  buttons.  The  story  these  things  told  of  war  and 
want  was  eloquent,  yet  she  wore  them  with  unconscious 
dignity.  She  had  not  a  pin  or  brooch  or  piece  of  jewelry. 
Everything  about  her  was  plain  and  smooth,  graceful  and 
gracious.  Her  face  was  large — the  lovely  oval  type — and 
her  luxuriant  hair,  parted  in  the  middle,  fell  downward  in 
two  great  waves.  Tall,  stately,  handsome,  her  dark  rare 
Southern  beauty  full  of  subtle  languor  and  indolent  grace, 
she  was  to  Phil  a  revelation. 

The  coarse  black  dress  that  clung  closely  to  her  figure 
seemed  alive  when  she  moved,  vital  with  her  beauty. 
The  musical  cadences  of  her  voice  were  vibrant  with 
feeling,  sweet,  tender,  and  homelike.  And  the  odour 
of  the  rose  she  wore  pinned  low  on  her  breast  he  could 
swear  was  the  perfume  of  her  breath. 

Lingering  in  her  eyes  and  echoing  in  the  tones  of  her 


The  Assassination  63 

voice,  he  caught  the  shadowy  memory  of  tears  for  the 
loved  and  lost  that  gave  a  strange  pathos  and  haunting 
charm  to  her  youth. 

She  had  returned  quickly  and  was  talking  at  ease  with 
him. 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell  you,  Captain  Stoneman,  that  I 
hope  to  be  a  sister  to  you.  You  •  have  already  made 
yourself  my  brother  in  what  you  did  for  Ben." 

"Nothing,  I  assure  you,  Miss  Cameron,  that  any 
soldier  wouldn't  do  for  a  brave  foe." 

"Perhaps;  but  when  the  foe  happens  to  be  an  only 
brother,  my  chum  and  playmate,  brave  and  generous, 
whom  I've  worshipped  as  my  beau-ideal  man — why,  you 
know  I  must  thank  you  for  taking  him  in  your  arms  that 
day.  May  I,  again?" 

Phil  felt  the  soft  warm  hand  clasp  his,  while  the  black 
eyes  sparkled  and  glowed  then*  friendly  message. 

He  murmured  something  incoherently,  looked  at 
Margaret  as  if  in  a  spell,  and  forgot  to  let  her  hand  go. 

She  laughed  at  last,  and  he  blushed  and  dropped  it  as 
though  it  were  a  live  coal. 

"  I  was  about  to  forget,  Miss  Cameron.  I  wish  to  take 
you  to  the  theatre  to-night,  if  you  will  go  ?  " 

"To  the  theatre?" 

"Yes.  It's  to  be  an  occasion,  Elsie  tells  me.  Laura 
Keene's  last  appearance  in  'Our  American  Cousin,'  and 
her  one-thousandth  performance  of  the  play.  She  played 
it  in  Chicago  at  McVicker's,  when  the  President  was  first 
nominated,  to  hundreds  of  the  delegates  who  voted  for 
him.  He  is  to  be  present  to-night,  so  the  Evening  Star 


64  The  Clansman 

has  announced,  and  General  and  Mrs.  Grant  with  him. 
It  will  be  the  opportunity  of  your  life  to  see  these  famous 
men — besides,  I  wish  you  to  see  the  city  illuminated  on 
the  way." 

Margaret  hesitated. 

"I  should  like  to  go,"  she  said  with  some  confusion. 
"But  you  see  we  are  old-fashioned  Scotch  Presbyterians 
down  in  our  village  in  South  Carolina.  I  never  was  in 
a  theatre — and  this  is  Good  Friday " 

"That's  a  fact,  sure,"  said  Phil,  thoughtfully.  "It 
never  occurred  to  me.  War  is  not  exactly  a  spiritual 
stimulant,  and  it  blurs  the  calendar.  I  believe  we  fight 
on  Sundays  oftener  than  on  any  other  day." 

"But  I'm  crazy  to  see  the  President  since  Ben's 
pardon.  Mama  will  be  here  in  a  moment,  and  I'll  ask 
her." 

"You  see,  it's  really  an  occasion,"  Phil  went  on. 
"The  people  are  all  going  there  to  see  President  Lincoln 
in  the  hour  of  his  triumph,  and  his  great  General  fresh 
from  the  field  of  victory.  Grant  has  just  arrived  in 
town." 

Mrs.  Cameron  entered  and  greeted  Phil  with  motherly 
tenderness. 

"Captain,  you're  so  much  like  my  boy!  Had  you 
noticed  it,  Margaret?" 

"Of  course,  Mama,  but  I  was  afraid  I'd  tire  him 
with  flattery  if  I  tried  to  tell  him." 

"  Only  his  hair  is  light  and  wavy,  and  Ben's  straight  and 
black,  or  you'd  call  them  twins.  Ben's  a  little  taller — 
excuse  us,  Captain  Stoneman,  but  we've  fallen  so  in 


The  Assassination  65 

love  with  your  little  sister  we  feel  we've  known  you  all 
our  lives." 

"I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Cameron,  your  flattery  is  very 
sweet.  Elsie  and  I  do  not  remember  our  mother,  and 
all  this  friendly  criticism  is  more  than  welcome." 

"Mama,  Captain  Stoneman  asks  me  to  go  with  him 
and  his  sister  to-night  to  see  the  President  at  the  theatre. 
May  I  go?" 

"Will  the  President  be  there,  Captain?"  asked  Mrs. 
Cameron. 

"Yes,  Madam,  with  General  and  Mrs.  Grant — it's 
really  a  great  public  function  in  celebration  of  peace 
and  victory.  To-day  the  flag  was  raised  over  Ft.  Sumter, 
the  anniversary  of  its  surrender  four  years  ago.  The 
city  will  be  illuminated.5' 

"Then,  of  course,  you  can  go.  I  will  sit  with  Ben. 
I  wish  you  to  see  the  President." 

At  seven  o'clock  Phil  called  for  Margaret.  They 
walked  to  the  Capitol  hill  and  down  Pennsylvania  Avenue. 

The  city  was  in  a  ferment.  Vast  crowds  thronged  the 
streets.  In  front  the  hotel  where  General  Grant 
stopped,  the  throng  was  so  dense  the  streets  were  com 
pletely  blocked.  Soldiers,  soldiers,  soldiers,  at  every 
turn,  in  squads,  in  companies,  in  regimental  crowds, 
shouting  cries  of  victory. 

The  display  of  lights  was  dazzling  in  its  splendour. 
Every  building  in  every  street  in  every  nook  and  corner  of 
the  city  was  lighted  from  attic  to  cellar.  The  public  build 
ings  and  churches  vied  with  each  other  in  the  magnificence 
of  their  decorations  and  splendour  of  illuminations. 


66  The  Clansman 

They  turned  a  corner,  and  suddenly  the  Capitol  on  the 
throne  of  its  imperial  hill  loomed  a  grand  constellation  in 
the  heavens!  Another  look,  and  it  seemed  a  huge  bonfire 
against  the  background  of  the  dark  skies.  Every  window 
in  its  labyrinths  of  marble,  from  the  massive  base  to  its 
crowning  statue  of  Freedom,  gleamed  and  flashed  with 
light — more  than  ten  thousand  jets  poured  their  rays 
through  its  windows,  besides  the  innumerable  lights  that 
circled  the  mighty  dome  within  and  without. 

Margaret  stopped,  and  Phil  felt  her  soft  hand  grip  his 
arm  with  sudden  emotion. 

"Isn't  it  sublime!"  she  whispered. 

"Glorious!"  he  echoed. 

But  he  was  thinking  of  the  pressure  of  her  hand  on 
his  arm  and  the  subtle  tones  of  her  voice.  Somehow  he 
felt  that  the  light  came  from  her  eyes.  He  forgot  the 
Capitol  and  the  surging  crowds  before  the  sweeter  creative 
wonder  silently  growing  in  his  soul. 

"And  yet,"  she  faltered,  "when  I  think  of  what  all  this 
means  for  our  people  at  home — their  sorrow  and  poverty 
and  ruin — you  know  it  makes  me  faint." 

Phil's  hand  timidly  sought  the  soft  one  resting  on  his 
arm  and  touched  it  reverently. 

"Believe  me,  Miss  Margaret,  it  will  be  all  for  the  best 
in  the  end.  The  South  will  yet  rise  to  a  nobler  life  than 
she  has  ever  lived  in  the  past.  This  is  her  victory  as  well 
as  ours." 

"I  wish  I  could  think  so,"  she  answered. 

They  passed  the  City  Hall  and  saw  across  its  front,  in 
giant  letters  of  fire  thirty  feet  deep,  the  words : 


The  Assassination  67 

"UNION,   SHERMAN  AND   GRANT" 

On  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  the  hotels  and  stores  had 
hung  every  window,  awning,  cornice  and  swaying  tree-top 
with  lanterns.  The  grand  avenue  was  bridged  by  tri- 
coloured  balloons  floating  and  shimmering  ghost-like  far 
up  in  the  dark  sky.  Above  these,  in  the  blacker  zone 
toward  the  stars,  the  heavens  were  flashing  sheets  of 
chameleon  flames  from  bursting  rockets. 

Margaret  had  never  dreamed  such  a  spectacle.  She 
walked  in  awed  silence,  now  and  then  suppressing  a  sob 
for  the  memory  of  those  she  had  loved  and  lost.  A  mo 
ment  of  bitterness  would  cloud  her  heart,  and  then  with 
the  sense  of  Phil's  nearness,  his  generous  nature,  the 
beauty  and  goodness  of  his  sister,  and  all  they  owed  to 
her  for  Ben's  life,  the  cloud  would  pass. 

At  every  public  building,  and  in  front  of  every  great 
hotel,  bands  were  playing.  The  wild  war  strains,  floating 
skyward,  seemed  part  of  the  changing  scheme  of  light. 
The  odour  of  burnt  powder  and  smouldering  rockets 
filled  the  warm  spring  air. 

The  deep  bay  of  the  great  fort  guns  now  began  to  echo 
from  every  hill-top  commanding  the  city,  while  a  thousand 
smaller  guns  barked  and  growled  from  every  square  and 
park  and  crossing. 

Jay  Cooke  &  Co.'s  banking-house  had  stretched  across 
its  front,  in  enormous  blazing  letters,  the  words: 

"THE  BUSY  B'S — BALLS,  BALLOTS  AND  BONDS" 

Every  telegraph  and  newspaper  office  was  a  roaring 
whirlpool  of  excitement,  for  the  same  scenes  were  being 


68  The  Clansman 

enacted  in  every  centre  of  the  North.  The  whole  city 
was  now  a  fairy  dream,  its  dirt  and  sin,  shame  and  crime, 
all  wrapped  in  glorious  light. 

But  above  all  other  impressions  was  the  contagion  of 
the  thunder  shouts  of  hosts  of  men  surging  through  the 
streets — the  human  roar  with  its  animal  and  spiritual 
magnetism,  wild,  resistless,  unlike  any  other  force  in  the 
universe ! 

Margaret's  hand  again  and  again  unconsciously 
tightened  its  hold  on  Phil's  arm,  and  he  felt  that  the  whole 
celebration  had  been  gotten  up  for  his  benefit. 

They  passed  through  a  little  park  on  their  way  to 
Ford's  Theatre  on  10th  Street,  and  the  eye  of  the  Southern 
girl  was  quick  to  note  the  budding  flowers  and  full-blown 
lilacs. 

"See  what  an  early  spring!"  she  cried.  "I  know  the 
flowers  at  home  are  gorgeous  now." 

"I  shall  hope  to  see  you  among  them  some  day,  when 
all  the  clouds  have  lifted,"  he  said. 

She  smiled  and  replied  with  simple  earnestness: 

"  A  warm  welcome  will  await  your  coming. " 

And  Phil  resolved  to  lose  no  time  in  testing  it. 

They  turned  into   10th  Street,  and  in  the  middle  of  • 
the  block  stood  the  plain  three-story  brick  structure  of 
Ford's  Theatre,  an  enormous  crowd  surging  about  its  five 
doorways  and  spreading  out  on  the  sidewalk  and  half 
across  the  driveway. 

"Is  that  the  theatre?"  asked  Margaret. 

"Yes." 

"Why,  it  looks  like  a  church  without  a  steeple." 


The  Assassination  69 

"Exactly  what  it  really  is,  Miss  Margaret.  It  was  a 
Baptist  church.  They  turned  it  into  a  playhouse,  by 
remodelling  its  gallery  into  a  dress-circle  and  balcony  and 
adding  another  gallery  above.  My  grandmother  Sione- 
man  is  a  devoted  Baptist,  and  was  an  attendant  at  this 
church.  My  father  never  goes  to  church,  but  he  used  to 
go  here  occasionally  to  please  her.  Elsie  and  I  frequently 
came." 

Phil  pushed  his  way  rapidly  through  the  crowd  with  a 
peculiar  sense  of  pleasure  in  making  a  way  for  Margaret 
and  in  defending  her  from  the  jostling  throng. 

They  found  Elsie  at  the  door,  stamping  her  foot  with 
impatience. 

"Well,  I  must  say,  Phil,  this  is  prompt  for  a  soldier  who 
had  positive  orders,"  she  cried.  "  I've  been  here  an  hour." 

"Nonsense,  Sis,  I'm  ahead  of  time,"  he  protested. 

Elsie  held  up  her  watch. 

"It's  a  quarter  past  eight.  Every  seat  is  filled,  and 
they've  stopped  soiling  standing-room.  I  hope  you  have 
good  seats." 

"The  best  in  the  house  to-night,  the  first  row  in  the 
balcony  dress-circle,  opposite  the  President's  box.  We 
can  see  everything  on  the  stage,  in  the  box,  and  every 
nook  and  corner  of  the  house." 

"Then,  I'll  forgive  you  for  keeping  me  waiting." 

They  ascended  the  stairs,  pushed  through  the  throng 
standing,  and  at  last  reached  the  seats. 

What  a  crowd  I  The  building  was  a  mass  of  throbbing 
humanity,  and,  over  all,  the  hum  of  the  thrilling  wonder 
of  peace  and  victory  1 


70  The  Clansman 

r 

The  women  in  magnificent  costumes,  officers  in  uni 
forms  flashing  with  gold,  the  show  of  wealth  and  power, 
the  perfume  of  flowers  and  the  music  of  violin  and  flutes 
gave  Margaret  the  impression  of  a  dream,  so  sharp 
was  the  contrast  with  her  own  life  and  people  in 
the  South. 

The  interior  of  the  house  was  a  billow  of  red,  white,  and 
blue.  The  President's  box  was  wrapped  in  two  enormous 
silk  flags  with  gold-fringed  edges  gracefully  draped  and 
hanging  in  festoons. 

Withers,  the  leader  of  the  orchestra,  was  in  high  feather. 
He  raised  his  baton  with  quick,  inspired  movement.  It 
was  for  him  a  personal  triumph,  too.  He  had  com 
posed  the  music  of  a  song  for  the  occasion.  It  was 
dedicated  to  the  President,  and  the  programme  announced 
that  it  would  be  rendered  during  the  evening  between  the 
acts  by  a  famous  quartet,  assisted  by  the  whole  company 
in  chorus.  The  National  flag  would  be  draped  about 
each  singer,  worn  as  the  togas  of  ancient  Greece  and 
Rome. 

It  was  already  known  by  the  crowd  that  General  and 
Mrs.  Grant  had  left  the  city  for  the  North  and  could  not 
be  present,  but  every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  door  through 
which  the  President  and  Mrs.  Lincoln  would  enter.  It 
was  the  hour  of  his  supreme  triumph. 

What  a  romance  his  life!  The  thought  of  it  thrilled  the 
crowd  as  they  waited.  A  few  years  ago  this  tall,  sad- 
faced  man  had  floated  down  the  Sangamon  River  into  a 
rough  Illinois  town,  ragged,  penniless,  friendless,  alone, 
begging  for  work.  Four  years  before,  he  had  entered 


The  Assassination  71 

Washington  as  President  of  the  United  States — but  he 
came  under  cover  of  the  night  with  a  handful  of  personal 
friends,  amid  universal  contempt  for  his  ability  and  the 
loud  expressed  conviction  of  his  failure  from  within  and 
without  his  party.  He  faced  a  divided  Nation  and  the 
most  awful  civil  conv  Ision  in  history.  Through  it  all 
he  had  led  the  Nation  in  safety,  growing  each  day  in 
power  and  fame,  until  to-night,  amid  the  victorious 
shouts  of  millions  of  a  Union  fixed  in  eternal  granite,  he 
stood  forth  the  idol  of  the  people,  the  first  great  American, 
the  foremost  man  of  the  world. 

There  was  a  stir  at  the  door,  and  the  tall  figure  suddenly 
loomed  in  view  of  the  crowd.  With  one  impulse  they 
leaped  to  their  feet,  and  shout  after  shout  shook  the 
building.  The  orchestra  was  playing  "  Hail  to  the  Chief! " 
but  nobody  heard  it.  They  saw  the  Chief!  They  were 
crying  their  own  welcome  in  music  that  came  from  the 
rhythmic  beat  of  human  hearts. 

As  the  President  walked  along  the  aisle  with  Mrs. 
Lincoln,  accompanied  by  Senator  Harris'  daughter  and 
Major  Rathbone,  cheer  after  cheer  burst  from  the  crowd. 
He  turned,  his  face  beaming  with  pleasure,  and  bowed 
as  he  passed. 

The  answer  of  the  crowd  shook  the  building,  to  its 
foundations,  and  the  President  paused.  His  dark  face 
flashed  with  emotion  as  he  looked  over  the  sea  of  cheering 
humanity.  It  was  a  moment  of  supreme  exaltation. 
The  people  had  grown  to  know  and  love  and  trust  him, 
and  it  was  sweet.  His  face,  lit  with  the  responsive  fires  of 
emotion,  was  transfigured.  The  soul  seemed  to  separate 


72  The  Clansman 

itself  from  its  dreamy,  rugged  dwelling-place  and  flash 
its  inspiration  from  the  spirit  world. 

As  around  this  man's  personality  had  gathered  the 
agony  and  horror  of  war,  so  now  about  his  head  glowed 
and  gleamed  in  imagination  the  splendours  of  victory. 

Margaret  impulsively  put  her  hand  on  Phil's  arm: 

"Why,  how  Southern  he  looks!  How  tall  and  dark  and 
typical  his  whole  figure ! " 

"Yes,  and  his  traits  of  character  even  more  typical," 
said  Phil.  "On  the  surface,  easy  friendly  ways  and  the 
tenderness  of  a  woman — beneath,  an  iron  will  and  lion 
heart.  I  like  him.  And  what  always  amazes  me  is  his 
universality.  A  Southerner  finds  in  him  the  South,  the 
Western  man  the  West,  even  Charles  Sumner,  from 
Boston,  almost  loves  him.  You  know  I  think  he  is  the 
first  great  all-round  American  who  ever  lived  in  the 
White  House." 

The  President's  party  had  now  entered  the  box,  and  as 
Mr.  Lincoln  took  the  arm-chair  nearest  the  audience, 
in  full  view  of  every  eye  in  the  house,  again  the  cheers 
rent  the  air.  In  vain  Withers'  baton  flew,  and  the 
orchestra  did  its  best.  The  music  was  drowned  as  in  the 
roar  of  the  sea.  Again  he  rose  and  bowed  and  smiled, 
his  face  radiant  with  pleasure.  The  soul  beneath  those 
deep-cut  lines  had  long  pined  for  the  sunlight.  His 
love  of  the  theatre  and  the  humorous  story  were  the 
protest  of  his  heart  against  pain  and  tragedy.  He  stood 
there  bowing  to  the  people,  the  grandest,  gentlest  figure 
of  the  fiercest  war  of  human  history — a  man  who  was 
always  doing  merciful  things  stealthily  as  others  do 


The  Assassination  73 

crimes.  Little  sunlight  had  come  into  his  life,  yet  to 
night  he  felt  that  the  sun  of  a  new  day  in  his  history  and 
the  history  of  the  people  was  already  tingeing  the  horizon 
with  glory. 

Back  of  those  smiles  what  a  story!  Many  a  night  he 
had  paced  back  and  forth  in  the  telegraph  office  of  the 
War  Department,  read  its  awful  news  of  defeat,  and 
alone  sat  down  and  cried  over  the  list  of  the  dead.  Many 
a  black  hour  his  soul  had  seen  when  the  honours  of 
earth  were  forgotten  and  his  great  heart  throbbed  on  his 
sleeve.  His  character  had  grown  so  evenly  and  silently 
with  the  burdens  he  had  borne,  working  mighty  deeds 
with  such  little  friction,  he  could  not  know,  nor  could  the 
crowd  to  whom  he  bowed,  how  deep  into  the  core  of  the 
people's  life  the  love  of  him  had  grown. 

As  he  looked  again  over  the  surging  crowd,  his  tall 
figure  seemed  to  straighten,  erect  and  buoyant,  with  the 
new  dignity  of  conscious  triumphant  leadership.  He 
knew  that  he  had  come  unto  his  own  at  last,  and  his 
brain  was  teeming  with  dreams  of  mercy  and  healing. 

The  President  resumed  his  seat,  the  tumult  died  away, 
and  the  play  began  amid  a  low  hum  of  whispered  comment 
directed  at  the  flag-draped  box.  The  actors  struggled  in 
vain  to  hold  the  attention  of  the  audience,  until  finally 
Hawk,  the  actor  playing  Dundreary,  determined  to 
catch  their  ear,  paused  and  said : 

"  Now,  that  reminds  me  of  a  little  story,  as  Mr.  Lincoln 
says " 

Instantly  the  crowd  burst  into  a  storm  of  applause,  the 
President  laughed,  leaned  over  and  spoke  to  his  wife,  and 


74  The  Clansman 

the  electric  connection  was  made  between  the  stage,  the 
box,  and  the  people.  '•  , 

After  this,  the  play  ran  its  smooth  course,  and  the 
audience  settled  into  its  accustomed  humour  of  sym 
pathetic  attention. 

In  spite  of  the  novelty  of  this  her  first  view  of  a  theatre, 
the  President  fascinated  Margaret.  She  watched  the 
changing  lights  and  shadows  of  his  sensitive  face  with 
untiring  interest,  and  the  wonder  of  his  life  grew  upon  her 
imagination.  This  man  who  was  the  idol  of  the  North 
and  yet  to  her  so  purely  Southern,  who  had  come  out  of 
the  West  and  yet  was  greater  than  the  West  or  the  North, 
and  yet  always  supremely  human: — this  man  who  sprang 
to  his  feet  from  the  chair  of  State  and  bowed  to  a  sorrowing 
woman  with  the  deference  of  a  knight,  every  man's 
friend,  good-natured,  sensible,  masterful  and  dear  in 
intellect,  strong,  yet  modest,  kind  and  gentle, — yes,  he  was 
more  interesting  than  all  the  drama  and  romance  of  the 
stage! 

He  held  her  imagination  in  a  spell.  Elsie,  divining 
her  abstraction,  looked  toward  the  President's  box  and 
saw  approaching  it  along  the  balcony  aisle  the  figure  of 
John  Wilkes  Booth. 

"  Look,"  she  cried,  touching  Margaret's  arm.  "  There's 
John  Wilkes  Booth,  the  actor!  Isn't  he  handsome? 
They  say  he's  in  love  with  my  chum,  a  senator's  daugh 
ter  whose  father  hates  Mr.  Lincoln  with  perfect  fury." 

"He  is  handsome,"  Margaret  answered.  "But  I'd 
be  afraid  of  him,  with  that  raven  hair  and  eyes  shining 
like  something  wild." 


The  Assassination  75 

"They  say  he  is  wild  and  dissipated,  yet  half  the  silly 
girls  in  town  are  in  love  with  him.  He's  as  vain  as  a 
peacock." 

Booth,  accustomed  to  free  access  to  the  theatre,  paused 
near  the  entrance  to  the  box  and  looked  deliberately  over 
the  great  crowd,  his  magnetic  face  flushed  with  deep 
emotion,  while  his  fiery  inspiring  eyes  glittered  with 
excitement. 

Dressed  in  a  suit  of  black  broadcloth  of  faultless  fit, 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  soles  of  his  feet  he  was 
physically  without  blemish.  A  figure  of  perfect  symmetry 
and  proportion,  his  dark  eyes  flashing,  his  marble  fore 
head  crowned  with  curling  black  hair,  agility  and  grace 
stamped  on  every  line  of  his  being — beyond  a  doubt  he 
was  the  handsomest  man  in  America.  A  flutter  of 
feminine  excitement  rippled  the  surface  of  the  crowd  in 
the  balcony  as  his  well-known  figure  caught  the  wandering 
eyes  of  the  women. 

He  turned  and  entered  the  door  leading  to  the  President's 
box,  and  Margaret  once  more  gave  her  attention  to  the 
stage. 

Hawk,  as  Dundreary,  was  speaking  his  lines  and 
looking  directly  at  the  President,  instead  of  at  the  audi 
ence: 

"Society,  eh?  Well,  I  guess  I  know  enough  to  turn 
you  inside  out,  old  woman,  you  darned  old  sockdologing 
man-trap!" 

Margaret  winced  at  the  coarse  words,  but  the  galleries 
burst  into  shouts  of  laughter  that  lingered  in  ripples  and 
murmurs  and  the  shuffling  of  feet. 


76  The  Clansman 

The  muffled  crack  of  a  pistol  in  the  President's  box 
hushed  the  laughter  for  an  instant. 

No  one  realised  what  had  happened,  and  when  the 
assassin  suddenly  leaped  from  the  box,  with  a  blood- 
marked  knife  flashing  in  his  right  hand,  caught  his  foot 
in  the  flags  and  fell  to  his  knees  on  the  stage,  many  thought 
it  a  part  of  the  programme,  and  a  boy,  leaning  over  the 
gallery  rail,  giggled.  When  Booth  turned  his  face  of 
statuesque  beauty  lit  by  eyes  flashing  with  insane  despera 
tion  and  cried,  "Sic  semper  tyrannis,"  they  were  only 
confirmed  in  this  impression. 

A  sudden,  piercing  scream  from  Mrs.  Lincoln,  quivering) 
soul-harrowing!  Leaning  far  out  of  the  box,  from  ashen 
cheeks  and  lips  leaped  the  piteous  cry  of  appeal,  her  hand 
pointing  to  the  retreating  figure: 

"The  President  is  shot!     He  has  killed  the  President!" 

Kvery  heart  stood  still  for  one  awful  moment.  The 
brain  refused  to  record  the  message — and  then  the  storm 
burst! 

A  wild  roar  of  helpless  fury  and  despair!  Men  hurled 
themselves  over  the  footlights  in  vain  pursuit  of  the  as 
sassin.  Already  the  clatter  of  his  horse's  feet  could  be 
heard  in  the  distance.  A  surgeon  threw  himself  against 
the  door  of  the  box,  but  it  had  been  barred  within  by  the 
cunning  hand.  Another  leaped  on  the  stage,  and  the 
people  lifted  him  up  in  their  arms  and  over  the  fatal 
railing. 

Women  began  to  faint,  and  strong  men  trampled  down 
the  weak  in  mad  rushes  from  side  to  side. 

The  stage  in  a  moment  was  a  seething  mass  of  crazed 


The  Assassination  77 

men,  among  them  the  actors  and  actresses  in  costumes 
and  painted  faces,  their  mortal  terror  shining  through 
the  rouge.  They  passed  water  up  to  the  box,  and  some 
tried  to  climb  up  and  enter  it. 

The  two  hundred  soldiers  of  the  President's  guard 
suddenly  burst  in,  and,  amid  screams  and  groans  of  the 
weak  and  injured,  stormed  the  house  with  fixed  bayonets, 
cursing,  yelling,  and  shouting  at  the  top  of  their  voices : 

"  Gear  out !     Clear  out !    You  sons  of  Hell ! " 

One  of  them  suddenly  bore  down  with  fixed  bayonet 
toward  Phil. 

Margaret  shrank  in  terror  close  to  his  side  and  trem 
blingly  held  his  arm. 

Elsie  sprang  forward,  her  face  aflame,  her  eyes  flashing 
fire,  her  little  figure  tense,  erect,  and  quivering  with  rage : 

"How  dare  you,  idiot,  brute!" 

The  soldier,  brought  to  his  senses,  saw  Phil  in  full 
captain's  uniform  before  him,  and  suddenly  drew  himself 
up,  saluting.  Phil  ordered  him  to  guard  Margaret  and 
Elsie  for  a  moment,  drew  his  sword,  leaped  between  the 
crazed  soldiers  and  their  victims  and  stopped  their  insane 
rush. 

Within  the  box,  the  great  head  lay  in  the  surgeon's  arms, 
the  blood  slowly  dripping  down,  and  the  tiny  death 
bubbles  forming  on  the  kindly  lips.  They  carried  him 
tenderly  out,  and  another  group  bore  after  him  the  un 
conscious  wife.  The  people  tore  the  seats  from  their 
fastenings  and  heaped  them  in  piles  to  make  way  for  the 
precious  burdens. 

As   Phil   pressed   forward   with   Margaret   and   Elsie, 


78  The  Clansman 

through  the  open  door  came  the  roar  of  the  mob  without, 
shouting  its  cries: 

"The  President  is  shot!" 

"Seward  is  murdered!" 

"Where  is  Grant?" 

"Where  is  Stanton?" 

"To  arms!    To  arms!" 

The  peal  of  signal  guns  could  now  be  heard,  the  roll 
of  drums  and  the  hurried  tramp  of  soldiers'  feet.  They 
marched  none  too  soon.  The  mob  had  attacked  the 
stockade  holding  ten  thousand  unarmed  Confederate 
prisoners. 

At  the  corner  of  the  block  in  which  the  theatre  stood, 
they  seized  a  man  who  looked  like  a  Southerner  and 
hung  him  to  the  lamp-post.  Two  heroic  policemen  fought 
their  way  to  his  side  and  rescued  him. 

If  the  temper  of  the  people  during  the  war  had  been 
convulsive,  now  it  was  insane — with  one  mad  impulse 
and  one  thought — vengeance!  Horror,  anger,  terror, 
uncertainty,  each  passion  fanned  the  one  animal  instinct 
into  fury. 

Through  this  awful  night,  with  the  lights  still  gleaming 
as  if  to  mock  the  celebration  of  victory,  the  crowds  swayed 
in  impotent  rage  through  the  streets,  while  the  telegraph 
bore  on  the  wings  of  lightning  the  awe-inspiring  news. 
Men  caught  it  from  the  wires,  and  stood  in  silent  groups 
weeping,  and  their  wrath  against  the  fallen  South  began 
to  rise  as  the  moaning  of  the  sea  under  a  coming  storm. 

At  dawn,  black  clouds  hung  threatening  on  the  eastern 
horizon.  As  the  sun  rose,  tingeing  them  for  a  moment 


The  Assassination  79 

with  scarlet  and  purple  glory,  Abraham  Lincoln  breathed 
his  last. 

Even  grim  Stanton,  the  iron-hearted,  stood  by  his  bed 
side  and  through  blinding  tears  exclaimed : 

"Now  he  belongs  to  the  ages!" 

The  deed  was  done.  The  wheel  of  things  had  moved. 
Vice-President  Johnson  took  the  oath  of  office,  and  men 
hailed  him  Chief;  but  the  seat  of  Empire  had  moved 
from  the  White  House  to  a  little  dark  house  on  the  Capitol 
hill,  where  dwelt  an  old  club-footed  man,  alone,  attended 
by  a  strange  brown  woman  of  sinister  animal  beauty  and 
the  restless  eyes  of  a  leopardess. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  FRENZY  OF  A  NATION 

PHIL  hurried  through  the  excited  crowds  with  Mar 
garet  and  Elsie,  left  them  at  the  hospital  door, 
and  ran  to  the  War  Department  to  report  for 
duty.  Already  the  tramp  of  regiments  echoed  down  every 
great  avenue. 

Even  as  he  ran,  his  heart  beat  with  a  strange  new 
stroke  when  he  recalled  the  look  of  appeal  in  Margaret's 
dark  eyes  as  she  nestled  close  to  his  side  and  clung  to  his 
arm  for  protection.  He  remembered  with  a  smile  the 
almost  resistless  impulse  of  the  moment  to  slip  his  arm 
around  her  and  assure  her  of  safety.  If  he  had  only 
dared! 

Elsie  begged  Mrs.  Cameron  and  Margaret  to  go  home 
with  her  until  the  city  was  quiet. 

"No,"  said  the  mother.  "I  am  not  afraid.  Death 
has  no  terrors  for  me  any  longer.  We  will  not  leave 
Ben  a  moment  now,  day  or  night.  My  soul  is  sick  with 
dread  for  what  this  awful  tragedy  will  mean  for  the  South ! 
I  can't  think  of  my  own  safety.  Can  any  one  undo  this 
pardon  now?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"I  am  sure  they  can  not.  The  name  on  that  paper 
should  be  mightier  dead  than  living." 

"Ah,  but  will  it  be?  Do  you  know  Mr.  Johnson? 

80 


The  Frenzy  of  a  Nation  81 

Can  he  control  Stanton  ?  He  seemed  to  be  more  powerful 
than  the  President  himself.  What  will  that  man  do 
now  with  those  who  fall  into  his  hands ! " 

"He  can  do  nothing  with  your  son,  rest  assured." 
"I  wish  I  knew  it,"  said  the  mother,  wistfully. 

A  few  moments  after  the  President  died  on  Saturday 
morning,  the  rain  began  to  pour  in  torrents.  The  flags 
that  flew  from  a  thousand  gilt-tipped  peaks  in  celebration 
of  victory  drooped  to  half-mast  and  hung  weeping  around 
their  staffs.  The  litter  of  burnt  fireworks,  limp  and 
crumbling,  strewed  the  streets,  and  the  tri-coloured 
lanterns  and  balloons,  hanging  pathetically  from  their 
wires,  began  to  fall  to  pieces. 

Never  in  all  the  history  of  man  had  such  a  conjunction 
of  events  befallen  a  nation.  From  the  heights  of  heaven's 
rejoicing  to  be  suddenly  hurled  to  the  depths  of  hell  in 
piteous,  helpless  grief!  Noon  to  midnight  without  a 
moment  between.  A  pall  of  voiceless  horror  spread  its 
shadows  over  the  land.  Nothing  short  of  an  earthquake 
or  the  sound  of  the  archangel's  trumpet  could  have  produced 
the  sense  of  helpless  consternation,  the  black  and  speech 
less  despair.  The  people  read  their  papers  in  tears.  The 
morning  meal  was  untouched.  By  no  other  single  feat 
could  Death  have  carried  such  peculiar  horror  to  every 
home.  Around  this  giant  figure,  the  heart-strings  of  the 
people  had  been  unconsciously  knit.  Even  his  political 
enemies  had  come  to  love  him. 

Above  all,  in  just  this  moment  he  was  the  incarnation  of 
the  Triumphant  Union  on  the  altar  of  whose  life  every 


82  The  Clansman 

house  had  laid  the  offering  of  its  first-born.  The  tragedy 
was  stupefying — it  was  unthinkable — it  was  the  mockery 
of  Fate! 

Men  walked  the  streets  of  the  cities,  dazed  with  the 
sense  of  blind  grief.  Every  note  of  music  and  rejoicing 
became  a  dirge.  All  business  ceased.  Every  wheel  in 
every  mill  stopped.  The  roar  of  the  great  city  was  hushed, 
and  Greed  for  a  moment  forgot  his  cunning. 

The  army  only  moved  with  swifter  spring,  tightening 
its  mighty  grip  on  the  throat  of  the  bleeding  prostrate 
South. 

As  the  day  wore  on  its  gloomy  hours,  and  men  began  td 
find  speech,  they  spoke  to  each  other  at  first  in  low  tones 
of  Fate,  of  Life,  of  Death,  of  Immortality,  of  God — and 
then  as  grief  found  words  the  measureless  rage  of  baflBed 
strength  grew  slowly  to  madness. 

On  every  breeze  from  the  North  came  the  deep-muttered 
curses. 

Easter  Sunday  dawned  after  the  storm,  clear  and 
beautiful  in  a  flood  of  glorious  sunshine.  The  churches 
were  thronged  as  never  in  their  history.  All  had  been 
decorated  for  the  double  celebration  of  Easter  and  the 
triumph  of  the  Union.  The  preachers  had  prepared 
sermons  pitched  in  the  highest  anthem  key  of  victory — 
victory  over  Death  and  the  grave  of  Calvary,  and  victory 
for  the  Nation  opening  a  future  of  boundless  glory. 
The  churches  were  labyrinths  of  flowers,  and  around 
every  pulpit  and  from  every  gothic  arch  hung  the  red,  white, 
and  blue  flags  of  the  Republic. 

And  now,  as  if  to  mock  this  gorgeous  pageant,  Death  had 


The  Frenzy  of  a  Nation  83 

in  the  night  flung  a  black  mantle  over  every  flag  and 
wound  a  strangling  web  of  crape  round  every  Easter 
flower. 

When  the  preachers  faced  the  silent  crowds  before 
them,  looking  into  the  faces  of  fathers,  mothers,  brothers, 
sisters,  and  lovers  whose  dear  ones  had  been  slain  in 
battle  or  died  in  prison  pens,  the  tide  of  grief  and  rage 
rose  and  swept  them  from  their  feet!  The  Easter  sermon 
was  laid  aside.  Fifty  thousand  Christian  ministers, 
stunned  and  crazed  by  insane  passion,  standing  before 
the  altars  of  God,  hurled  into  the  broken  hearts  before 
them  the  wildest  cries  of  vengeance  —  cries  incoherent, 
chaotic,  unreasoning,  blind  in  their  awful  fury! 

The  pulpits  of  New  York  and  Brooklyn  led  in  the 
madness. 

Next  morning  old  Stoneman  read  his  paper  with  a  cold 
smile  playing  about  his  big  stern  mouth,  while  his  fur 
rowed  brow  flushed  with  triumph,  as  again  and  again  he 
exclaimed:  "At  last!  At  last!" 

Even  Beecher,  who  had  just  spoken  his  generous 
words  at  Fort  Sumter,  declared: 

"Never  while  time  lasts,  while  heaven  lasts,  while  hell 
rocks  and  groans,  will  it  be  forgotten  that  Slavery,  by  its 
minions,  slew  him,  and  slaying  him  made  manifest  its 
whole  nature.  A  man  can  not  be  bred  in  its  tainted  air. 
I  shall  find  saints  in  hell  sooner  than  I  shall  find  true 
manhood  under  its  accursed  influences.  The  breeding- 
ground  of  such  monsters  must  be  utterly  and  forever 
destroyed." 

Dr.  Stephen  Tyng  said: 


84  The  Clansman 

"The  leaders  of  this  rebellion  deserve  no  pity  from  any 
human  being.  Now  let  them  go.  Some  other  land  must 
be  their  home.  Their  property  is  justly  forfeited  to  the 
Nation  they  have  attempted  to  destroy!" 

In  big  black-faced  type  stood  Dr.  Charles  S.  Robinson's 
bitter  words: 

"This  is  the  earliest  reply  which  chivalry  makes  to  our 
forbearance.  Talk  to  me  no  more  of  the  same  race,  of 
the  same  blood.  He  is  no  brother  of  mine  and  of  no  race 
of  mine  who  crowns  the  barbarism  of  Treason  with  the 
murder  of  an  unarmed  husband  in  the  sight  of  his  wife. 
On  the  villains  who  led  this  Rebellion  let  justice  fall 
swift  and  relentless.  Death  to  every  traitor  of  the  South! 
Pursue  them  one  by  one!  Let  every  door  be  closed  upon 
them  and  judgment  follow  swift  and  implacable  as 
death!" 

Dr.  Theodore  Cuyler  exclaimed: 

"This  is  no  time  to  talk  of  leniency  and  conciliation! 
I  say  before  God,  make  no  terms  with  rebellion  short  of 
extinction.  Booth  wielding  the  assassin's  weapon  is 
but  the  embodiment  of  the  bowie-knife  barbarism  of  a 
slaveholding  oligarchy." 

Dr.  J.  P.  Thompson  said: 

"Blot  every  Southern  state  from  the  map.  Strip  every 
rebel  of  property  and  citizenship,  and  send  them  into  exile 
beggared  and  infamous  outcasts." 

Bishop  Littlejohn,  in  his  impassioned  appeal,  declared: 

"The  deed  is  worthy  of  the  Southern  cause  which  was 
conceived  in  sin,  brought  forth  in  iniquity,  and  consum 
mated  in  crime.  This  murderous  hand  is  the  same  hand 


The  Frenzy  of  a  Nation  85 

which  lashed  the  slave's  bared  back,  struck  down  New 
England's  Senator  for  daring  to  speak,  lifted  the  torch  of 
rebellion,  slaughtered  in  cold  blood  its  thousands,  and 
starved  our  helpless  prisoners.  Its  end  is  not  martyrdom, 
but  dishonour." 

Bishop  Simpson  said : 

"Let  every  man  who  was  a  member  of  Congress  and 
aided  this  rebellion  be  brought  to  speedy  punishment. 
Let  every  officer  educated  at  public  expense,  who  turned  his 
sword  against  his  country,  be  doomed  to  a  traitor's  death! " 

With  the  last  note  of  this  wild  music  lingering  in  the 
old  Commoner's  soul,  he  sat  as  if  dreaming,  laughed 
cynically,  turned  to  the  brown  woman  and  said: 

"My  speeches  have  not  been  lost  after  all!  Prepare 
dinner  for  six.  My  cabinet  will  meet  here  to-night." 

While  the  press  was  re-echoing  these  sermons,  gath 
ering  strength  as  they  were  caught  and  repeated  in  every 
town,  village,  and  hamlet  in  the  North,  the  funeral  pro 
cession  started  westward.  It  passed  in  grandeur  through 
the  great  cities  on  its  journey  of  one  thousand  six 
hundred  miles  to  the  tomb.  By  day,  by  night,  by  dawn, 
by  sunlight,  by  twilight,  and  lit  by  solemn  torches,  millions 
of  silent  men  and  women  looked  on  his  dead  face.  Around 
the  person  of  this  tall,  lonely  man,  rugged,  yet  full  of  sombre 
dignity  and  spiritual  beauty,  the  thoughts,  hopes,  dreams, 
and  ideals  of  the  people  had  gathered  in  four  years  of 
agony  and  death,  until  they  had  come  to  feel  their  own 
hearts  beat  in  his  breast  and  their  own  life  throb  in  his 
life.  The  assassin's  bullet  had  crashed  into  their  own 
brains,  and  torn  their  souls  and  bodies  asunder. 


86  The  Clansman 

The  masses  were  swept  from  their  moorings,  and  reason 
destroyed.  All  historic  perspective  was  lost.  Our  first 
assassination,  there  was  no  precedent  for  comparison.  It 
had  been  over  two  hundred  years  in  the  world's  history 
since  the  last  murder  of  a  great  ruler,  when  William  of 
Orange  fell. 

On  the  day  set  for  the  public  funeral,  twenty  million 
people  bowed  at  the  same  hour. 

When  the  procession  reached  New  York,  the  streets 
were  lined  with  a  million  people.  Not  a  sound  could  be 
heard  save  the  tramp  of  soldiers'  feet  and  the  muffled 
cry  of  the  dirge.  Though  on  every  foot  of  earth 
stood  a  human  being,  the  silence  of  the  desert 
and  of  Death!  The  Nation's  living  heroes  rode  in 
that  procession,  and  passed  without  a  sign  from  the 
people. 

Four  years  ago  he  drove  down  Broadway  as  President 
elect,  unnoticed  and  with  soldiers  in  disguise  attending  him 
lest  the  mob  should  stone  him. 

To-day,  at  the  mention  of  his  name  in  the  churches,  the 
preachers'  voices  in  prayer  wavered  and  broke  into  silence, 
while  strong  men  among  the  crowd  burst  into  sobs. 
Flags  flew  at  half-mast  from  their  steeples,  and  their  bells 
tolled  in  grief. 

Every  house  that  flew  but  yesterday  its  banner  of 
victory  was  shrouded  in  mourning.  The  flags  and 
pennants  of  a  thousand  ships  in  the  harbour  drooped  at 
half-mast,  and  from  every  staff  in  the  city  streamed  across 
the  sky  the  black  mists  of  crape  like  strange  meteors  hi  the 
troubled  heavens. 


The  Frenzy  of  a  Nation  87 

For  three  days  every  theatre,  school,  court,  bank,  shop, 
and  mill  was  closed. 

And  with  muttered  curses  men  looked  Southward. 

Across  Broadway  the  cortege  passed  under  a  huge 
transparency  on  which  appeared  the  words: 

"A  NATION   BOWED  IN  GRIEF 

WlLL    RISE    IN    MIGHT    TO    EXTERMINATE 
THE    LEADERS    OF    THIS    ACCURSED    REBELLION." 

Farther  along  swung  the  black-draped  banner: 

"JUSTICE   TO   TRAITORS 

is 
MERCY   TO   THE   PEOPLE." 

Another  flapped  its  grim  message: 

"THE  BARBARISM  OF  SLAVERY. 
CAN  BARBARISM  GO  FURTHER?" 

Across  the  Ninth  Regiment  Armory,  in  gigantic  letters, 
were  the  words: 

"A  TIME  FOR  WEEPING 
BUT  VENGEANCE  is  NOT  SLEEPING!" 

When  the  procession  reached  Buffalo,  the  house  of 
Millard  Fillmore  was  mobbed  because  the  ex-President, 
stricken  on  a  bed  of  illness,  had  neglected  to  drape  his 
house  in  mourning.  The  procession  passed  to  Springfield 
through  miles  of  bowed  heads  dumb  with  grief.  The 
plough  stopped  in  the  furrow,  the  smith  dropped  his  ham 
mer,  the  carpenter  his  plane,  the  merchant  closed  his  door, 
the  clink  of  coin  ceased,  and  over  all  hung  brooding 
silence  with  low-muttered  curses,  fierce  and  incoherent. 


88  The  Clansman 

No  man  who  walked  the  earth  ever  passed  to  his  tomb 
through  such  a  storm  of  human  tears.  The  pageants  of 
Alexander,  Csesar,  and  Wellington  were  tinsel  to  this. 
Nor  did  the  spirit  of  Napoleon,  the  Corsican  Lieutenant  of 
Artillery  who  once  presided  over  a  congress  of  kings 
whom  he  had  conquered,  look  down  on  its  like  even  in 
France. 

And  now  that  its  pomp  was  done  and  its  memory  but 
bitterness  and  ashes,  but  one  man  knew  exactly  what  he 
wanted  and  what  he  meant  to  do.  Others  were  stunned 
by  the  blow.  But  the  cold  eyes  of  the  Great  Com 
moner,  leader  of  leaders,  sparkled,  arid  his  grim  lips 
smiled.  From  him  not  a  word  of  praise  or  fawning 
sorrow  for  the  dead.  Whatever  he  might  be,  he  was 
not  a  liar  :  when  he  hated,  he  hated. 

The  drooping  flags,  the  city's  black  shrouds,  pro 
cessions,  torches,  silent  seas  of  faces  and  bared  heads,  the 
dirges  and  the  bells,  the  dim-lit  churches,  wailing  organs, 
fierce  invectives  from  the  altar,  and  the  perfume  of  flowers 
piled  in  heaps  by  silent  hearts — to  all  these  was  he  heir. 

And  more — the  fierce  unwritten,  unspoken,  and  un 
speakable  horrors  of  the  war  itself,  its  passions,  its  cruelties, 
its  hideous  crimes  and  sufferings,  the  wailing  of  its  women, 
the  graves  of  its  men — all  these  now  were  his. 

The  new  President  bowed  to  the  storm.  In  one 
breath  he  promised  to  fulfil  the  plans  of  Lincoln.  In  the 
next  he,  too,  breathed  threats  of  vengeance. 

The  edict  went  forth  for  the  arrest  of  General  Lee. 

Would  Grant,  the  Commanding  General  of  the  Army, 
dare  protest?  There  were  those  who  said  that  if  Lee 


The  Frenzy  of  a  Nation  89 

were  arrested  and  Grant's  plighted  word  at  Appomattox 
smirched,  the  silent  soldier  would  not  only  protest,  but 
draw  his  sword,  if  need  be,  to  defend  his  honour  and 
the  honour  of  the  Nation.  Yet — would  he  dare?  It 
remained  to  be  seen. 

The  jails  were  now  packed  with  Southern  men,  taken 
unarmed  from  their  homes.  The  old  Capitol  Prison  was 
full,  and  every  cell  of  every  grated  building  in  the  city, 
and  they  were  filling  the  rooms  of  the  Capitol  itself. 

Margaret,  hurrying  from  the  market  in  the  early 
morning  with  her  flowers,  was  startled  to  find  her  mother 
bowed  in  anguish  over  a  paragraph  in  the  morning  paper. 

She  rose  and  handed  it  to  the  daughter,  who  read: 

"Dr.  Richard  Cameron,  of  South  Carolina,  arrived  in 
Washington  and  was  placed  in  jail  last  night,  charged  with 
complicity  in  the  murder  of  President  Lincoln.  It  was 
discovered  that  Jeff.  Davis  spent  the  night  at  his  home  in 
Piedmont,  under  the  pretence  of  needing  medical  attention. 
Beyond  all  doubt,  Booth,  the  assassin,  merely  acted  under 
orders  from  the  Arch  Traitor.  May  the  gallows  have  a  rich 
and  early  harvest!" 

Margaret  tremblingly  wound  her  arms  around  her 
mother's  neck.  No  words  broke  the  pitiful  silence — only 
blinding  tears  and  broken  sobs. 


Book  II — The  Revolution 


THE  little  house  on  the  Capitol  hill  now  became 
the  centre  of  fevered  activity.  This  house, 
selected  by  its  grim  master  to  become  the  execu 
tive  mansion  of  the  Nation,  was  perhaps  the  most  modest 
structure  ever  chosen  for  such  high  uses. 

It  stood,  a  small,  two-story  brick  building,  in  an  unpre 
tentious  street.  Seven  windows  opened  on  the  front  with 
black  solid-panelled  shutters.  The  front  parlour  was 
scantily  furnished.  A  huge  mirror  covered  one  wall,  and 
on  the  other  hung  a  life-size  oil  portrait  of  Stoneman, 
and  between  the  windows  were  a  portrait  of  Washington 
Irving  and  a  picture  of  a  nun.  Among  his  many 
charities  he  had  always  given  liberally  to  an  orphanage 
conducted  by  a  Roman  Catholic  sisterhood. 

The  back  parlour,  whose  single  window  looked  out  on  a 
small  garden,  he  had  fitted  up  as  a  library,  with  leather- 
upholstered  furniture,  a  large  desk  and  table,  and  scat 
tered  on  the  mantel  and  about  its  walls  were  the  photo 
graphs  of  his  personal  friends  and  a  few  costly  prints. 
This  room  he  used  as  his  executive  office,  and  no  person 
was  allowed  to  enter  it  without  first  stating  his  business  or 

90 


The  First  Lady  of  the  Land  91 

presenting  a  petition  to  the  tawny  brown  woman  with  rest 
less  eyes  who  sat  in  state  in  the  front  parlour  and  received 
his  visitors.  The  books  in  their  cases  gave  evidence  of 
little  use  for  many  years,  although  their  character  indi 
cated  the  tastes  of  a  man  of  culture.  His  Pliny,  Caesar, 
Cicero,  Tacitus,  Sophocles,  and  Homer  had  evidently  been 
read  by  a  man  who  knew  their  beauties  and  loved  them 
for  their  own  sake. 

This  house  was  now  the  Mecca  of  the  party  in  power 
and  the  storm-centre  of  the  forces  destined  to  shape  the 
Nation's  life.  Senators,  Representatives,  politicians  of 
low  and  high  degree,  artists,  correspondents,  foreign  min 
isters,  and  cabinet  officers  hurried  to  acknowledge  their 
fealty  to  the  uncrowned  king,  and  hail  the  strange  brown 
woman  who  held  the  keys  of  his  house  as  the  first  lady  of 
the  land. 

When  Charles  Sumner  called,  a  curious  thing  happened. 
By  a  code  agreed  on  between  them,  Lydia  Brown  touched 
an  electric  signal  which  informed  the  old  Commoner  of 
his  appearance.  Stoneman  hobbled  to  the  folding-doors 
and  watched  through  the  slight  opening  the  manner  in 
which  the  icy  Senator  greeted  the  negress  whom  he  was 
compelled  to  meet  thus  as  his  social  equal,  though  she  was 
always  particular  to  pose  as  the  superior  of  all  who  bowed 
the  knee  to  the  old  man  whose  house  she  kept. 

Sumner  at  this  time  was  supposed  to  be  the  most  power 
ful  man  in  Congress.  It  was  a  harmless  fiction  which 
pleased  him,  and  at  which  Stoneman  loved  to  laugh. 

The  Senator  from  Massachusetts  had  just  made  a  speech 
in  Boston  expounding  the  "Equality  of  Man,"  yet  he 


92  The  Clansman 

could  not  endure  personal  contact  with  a  negro.  He  would 
go  secretly  miles  out  of  the  way  to  avoid  it. 

Stoneman  watched  him  slowly  and  daintily  approach 
this  negress  and  touch  her  jewelled  hand  gingerly  with  the 
tips  of  his  classic  fingers  as  if  she  were  a  toad.  Con 
vulsed,  he  scrambled  back  to  his  desk  and  hugged  himself 
while  he  listened  to  the  flow  of  Lydia's  condescending 
patronage  in  the  next  room. 

"This  world's  too  good  a  thing  to  lose!"  he  chuckled. 
"I  think  I'll  live  always." 

When  Sumner  left,  the  hour  for  dinner  had  arrived,  and 
by  special  invitation  two  men  dined  with  him. 

On  his  right  sat  an  army  officer  who  had  been  dismissed 
from  the  service,  a  victim  of  the  mania  for  gambling.  His 
ruddy  face,  iron-gray  hair,  and  jovial  mien  indicated  that 
he  enjoyed  life  in  spite  of  troubles. 

There  were  no  clubs  in  Washington  at  this  time  except 
the  regular  gambling-houses,  of  which  there  were  more 
than  one  hundred  in  full  blast. 

Stoneman  was  himself  a  gambler,  and  spent  a  part  of 
almost  every  night  at  Hall  &  Pemberton's  Faro  Palace 
on  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  a  place  noted  for  its  famous 
restaurant.  It  was  here  that  he  met  Colonel  Howie  and 
learned  to  like  him.  He  was  a  man  of  talent,  cool  and 
audacious,  and  a  liar  of  such  singular  fluency  that  he  quite 
captivated  the  old  Commoner's  imagination. 

"Upon  my  soul,  Howie,"  he  declared  soon  after  they 
met,  "you  made  the  mistake  of  your  life  going  into  the 
army.  You're  a  born  politician.  You're  what  I  call  a 
natural  liar,  just  as  a  horse  is  a  pacer,  a  dog  a  setter.  You 


The  First  Lady  of  the  Land  93 

lie  without  effort,  with  an  ease  and  grace  that  excels  all  art. 
Had  you  gone  into  politics,  you  could  easily  have  been 
Secretary  of  State,  to  say  nothing  of  the  vice-presidency. 
I  would  say  President  but  for  the  fact  that  men  of  the 
highest  genius  never  attain  it." 

From  that  moment  Colonel  Howie  had  become  his 
charmed  henchman.  Stoneman  owned  this  man  body 
and  soul,  not  merely  because  he  had  befriended  him  when 
he  was  in  trouble  and  friendless,  but  because  the  Colonel 
recognised  the  power  of  the  leader's  daring  spirit  and  revo 
lutionary  genius. 

On  his  left  sat  a  negro  of  perhaps  forty  years,  a  man  of 
charming  features  for  a  mulatto,  who  had  evidently  in 
herited  the  full  physical  characteristics  of  the  Aryan  race, 
while  his  dark  yellowish  eyes  beneath  his  heavy  brows 
glowed  with  the  brightness  of  the  African  jungle.  It 
was  impossible  to  look  at  his  superb  face,  with  its  large, 
finely  chiselled  lips  and  massive  nose,  his  big  neck  and 
broad  shoulders,  and  watch  his  eyes  gleam  beneath  the 
projecting  forehead,  without  seeing  pictures  of  the  pri 
meval  forest.  "The  head  of  a  Csesar  and  the  eyes  of 
the  jungle"  was  the  phrase  coined  by  an  artist  who 
painted  his  portrait. 

His  hair  was  black  and  glossy  and  stood  in  dishevelled 
profusion  on  his  head  between  a  kink  and  a  curl.  He  was 
an  orator  of  great  power,  and  stirred  a  Negro  audience  as 
by  magic. 

Lydia  Brown  had  called  Stoneman's  attention  to  this 
man,  Silas  Lynch,  and  induced  the  statesman  to  send  him 
to  college.  He  had  graduated  with  credit  and  had  entered 


94  The  Clansman 

the  Methodist  ministry.  In  his  preaching  to  the  freedmen 
he  had  already  become  a  marked  man.  No  house  could 
hold  his  audiences. 

As  he  stepped  briskly  into  the  dining-room  and  passed 
the  brown  woman,  a  close  observer  might  have  seen  him 
suddenly  press  her  hand  and  caught  her  sly  answering 
smile,  but  the  old  man  waiting  at  the  head  of  the  table 
saw  nothing. 

The  woman  took  her  seat  opposite  Stoneman  and  pre 
sided  over  this  curious  group  with  the  easy  assurance  of 
conscious  power.  Whatever  her  real  position,  she  knew 
how  to  play  the  r61e  she  had  chosen  to  assume. 

No  more  curious  or  sinister  figure  ever  cast  a  shadow 
across  the  history  of  a  great  nation  than  did  this  mulatto 
woman  hi  the  most  corrupt  hour  of  American  life.  The 
grim  old  man  who  looked  into  her  sleek  tawny  face  and 
followed  her  catlike  eyes  was  steadily  gripping  the  Nation 
by  the  throat.  Did  he  aim  to  make  this  woman  the 
arbiter  of  its  social  life,  and  her  ethics  the  limit  of  its 
moral  laws? 

Even  the  white  satellite  who  sat  opposite  Lynch  flushed 
for  a  moment  as  the  thought  flashed  through  his  brain. 

The  old  cynic,  who  alone  knew  his  real  purpose,  was 
in  his  most  genial  mood  to-night,  and  the  grim  lines  of  his 
powerful  face  relaxed  into  something  like  a  smile  as  they 
ate  and  chatted  and  told  good  stories. 

Lynch  watched  him  with  keen  interest.  He  knew  his 
history  and  character,  and  had  built  on  his  genius  a  brilliant 
scheme  of  life. 

This  man  who  meant  to  become  the  dictator  cf  the 


The  First  Lady  of  the  Land  95 

Republic  had  come  from  the  humblest  early  conditions. 
His  father  was  a  worthless  character,  from  whom  he  had 
learned  the  trade  of  a  shoemaker,  but  his  mother,  a  woman 
of  vigorous  intellect  and  indomitable  will,  had  succeeded 
in  giving  her  lame  boy  a  college  education.  He  had  early 
sworn  to  be  a  man  of  wealth,  and  to  this  purpose  he  had 
throttled  the  dreams  and  ideals  of  a  wayward  imagina 
tion. 

His  hope  of  great  wealth  had  not  been  realised.  His 
iron  mills  in  Pennsylvania  had  been  destroyed  by  Lee's 
army.  He  had  developed  the  habit  of  gambling,  which 
brought  its  train  of  extravagant  habits,  tastes,  and  inevita 
ble  debts.  In  his  vigorous  manhood,  in  spite  of  his  lame 
ness,  he  had  kept  a  pack  of  hounds  and  a  stable  of  fine 
horses.  He  had  used  his  skill  in  shoemaking  to  construct 
a  set  of  stirrups  to  fit  his  lame  feet,  and  had  become  an 
expert  hunter  to  hounds. 

One  thing  he  never  neglected — to  be  in  his  seat  in  the 
House  of  Representatives  and  wear  its  royal  crown  of 
leadership,  sick  or  well,  day  or  night.  The  love  of  power 
was  the  breath  of  his  nostrils,  and  his  ambitions  had  at  one 
time  been  boundless.  His  enormous  power  to-day  was 
due  to  the  fact  that  he  had  given  up  all  hope  of  office 
beyond  the  robes  of  the  king  of  his  party.  He  had  been 
offered  a  cabinet  position  by  the  elder  Harrison  and  for 
some  reason  it  had  been  withdrawn.  He  had  been  prom 
ised  a  place  in  Lincoln's  cabinet,  but  some  mysterious 
power  had  snatched  it  away.  He  was  the  one  great  man 
who  had  now  no  ambition  for  which  to  trim  and  fawn 
and  lie,  and  for  the  very  reason  that  he  had  abolished 


96  The  Clansman 

himself  he  was  the  most  powerful  leader  who  ever 
walked  the  halls  of  Congress. 

His  contempt  for  public  opinion  was  boundless.  Bold, 
original,  scornful  of  advice,  of  all  the  men  who  ever  lived 
in  our  history  he  was  the  one  man  born  to  rule  in  the 
~\aos  which  followed  the  assassination  of  the  chief 
magistrate. 

Audacity  was  stamped  in  every  line  of  his  magnificent 
head.  His  choicest  curses  were  for  the  cowards  of  his 
own  party  before  whose  blanched  faces  he  shouted  out 
the  hidden  things  until  they  sank  back  in  helpless  silence 
and  dismay.  His  speech  was  curt,  his  humour  sardonic, 
his  wit  biting,  cruel  and  coarse. 

The  incarnate  soul  of  revolution,  he  despised  convention 
and  ridiculed  respectability. 

There  was  but  one  weak  spot  in  his  armour — and  the 
world  never  suspected  it :  the  consuming  passion  with  which 
he  loved  his  two  children.  This  was  the  side  of  his  nature 
he  had  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  man.  A  refined  egotism, 
this  passion,  perhaps — for  he  meant  to  live  his  own  life 
over  in  them — yet  it  was  the  one  utterly  human  and  lov 
able  thing  about  him.  And  if  his  public  policy  was  one 
of  stupendous  avarice,  this  dream  of  millions  of  confiscated 
wealth  he  meant  to  seize,  it  was  not  for  himself  but  for  his 
children. 

As  he  looked  at  Howie  and  Lynch  seated  in  his  library 
after  dinner,  with  his  great  plans  seething  in  his  brain, 
his  eyes  were  flashing,  intense  and  fiery,  yet  without  colour 
— simply  two  centres  of  cold  light. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  at  length.     "I  am  going  to  ask 


The  First  Lady  of  the  Land  97 

you  to  undertake  for  the  Government,  the  Nation,  and 
yourselves  a  dangerous  and  important  mission.  I  say 
yourselves,  because,  in  spite  of  all  our  beautiful  lies,  self 
is  the  centre  of  all  human  action.  Mr.  Lincoln  has  fortu 
nately  gone  to  his  reward — fortunately  for  him  and  for 
his  country.  His  death  was  necessary  to  save  his  life. 
He  was  a  useful  man  living,  more  useful  dead.  Our  party 
has  lost  its  first  President,  but  gained  a  god — why  mourn  ?" 

"We  will  recover  from  our  grief,"  said  Howie. 

The  old  man  went  on,  ignoring  the  interruption: 

"Things  have  somehow  come  my  way.  I  am  almost 
persuaded  late  in  life  that  the  gods  love  me.  The  insane 
fury  of  the  North  against  the  South  for  a  crime  which  they 
were  the  last  people  on  earth  to  dream  of  committing  is, 
of  course,  a  power  to  be  used — but  with  caution.  The  first 
execution  of  a  Southern  leader  on  such  an  idiotic  charge 
would  produce  a  revolution  of  sentiment.  The  people 
are  an  aggregation  of  hysterical  fools." 

"I  thought  you  favoured  the  execution  of  the  leaders 
of  the  Rebellion?"  said  Lynch  with  surprise. 

"  I  did,  but  it  is  too  late.  Had  they  been  tried  by  drum 
head  court-martial  and  shot  dead  red-handed  as  they  stood 
on  the  field  in  their  uniforms,  all  would  have  been  well. 
Now  sentiment  is  too  strong.  Grant  showed  his  teeth  to 
Stanton  and  he  backed  down  from  Lee's  arrest.  Sher 
man  refused  to  shake  hands  with  Stanton  on  the  grand 
stand  the  day  his  army  passed  in  review,  and  it's  a  wonder 
he  didn't  knock  him  down.  Sherman  was  denounced 
as  a  renegade  and  traitor  for  giving  Joseph  E.  Johnston 
the  terms  Lincoln  ordered  him  to  give.  Lincoln  dead, 


98  The  Clansman 

his  terms  are  treason !  Yet  had  he  lived,  we  should  have 
been  called  upon  to  applaud  his  mercy  and  patriotism. 
How  can  a  man  live  in  this  world  and  keep  his  face 
straight?" 

"I  believe  God  permitted  Mr.  Lincoln's  death  to  give 
the  great  Commoner,  the  Leader  of  Leaders,  the  right  of 
way,"  cried  Lynch  with  enthusiasm. 

The  old  man  smiled.  With  all  his  fierce  spirit 
he  was  as  susceptible  to  flattery  as  a  woman — far 
more  so  than  the  sleek  brown  woman  who  carried  the 
keys  of  his  house. 

"The  man  at  the  other  end  of  the  Avenue,  who  pretends 
to  be  President,  in  reality  an  alien  of  the  conquered  prov 
ince  of  Tennessee,  is  pressing  Lincoln's  plan  of  'restoring' 
the  Union.  He  has  organised  state  governments  in  the 
South,  and  their  Senators  and  Representatives  will  appear 
at  the  Capitol  in  December  for  admission  to  Congress. 
He  thinks  they  will  enter " 

The  old  man  broke  into  a  low  laugh  and  rubbed  his 
hands. 

"My  full  plans  are  not  for  discussion  at  this  juncture. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  I  mean  to  secure  the  future  of  our  party 
and  the  safety  of  this  Nation.  The  one  thing  on  which 
the  success  of  my  plan  absolutely  depends  is  the 
confiscation  of  the  millions  of  acres  of  land  owned 
by  the  white  people  of  the  South  and  its  division  among 
the  negroes  and  those  who  fought  and  suffered  in  this 
war " 

The  old  Commoner  paused,  pursed  his  lips,  and  fum 
bled  his  hands  a  moment,  the  nostrils  of  his  eagle- 


The  First  Lady  of  the  Land  99 

beaked  nose  breathing  rapacity,  sensuality  throbbing 
in  his  massive  jaws,  and  despotism  frowning  from  his 
heavy  brows. 

"Stanton  will  probably  add  to  the  hilarity  of  nations, 
and  amuse  himself  by  hanging  a  few  rebels,"  he  went  on, 
"but  we  will  address  ourselves  to  serious  work.  All  men 
have  their  price,  including  the  present  company,  with 
due  apologies  to  the  speaker " 

Howie's  eyes  danced,  and  he  licked  his  lips. 

"If  I  haven't  suffered  in  this  war,  who  has?" 

"Your  reward  will  not  be  in  accordance  with  your 
sufferings.  It  will  be  based  on  the  efficiency  with  which 
you  obey  my  orders.  Read  that " 

He  handed  to  him  a  piece  of  paper  on  which  he  had 
scrawled  his  secret  instructions. 

Another  he  gave  to  Lynch. 

"Hand  them  back  to  me  when  you  read  them,  and  I  will 
burn  them.  These  instructions  are  not  to  pass  the  lips  of 
any  man  until  the  time  is  ripe — four  bare  walls  are  not 
to  hear  them  whispered." 

Both  men  handed  to  the  leader  the  slips  of  paper 
simultaneously. 

"Are  we  agreed,  gentlemen?" 

"Perfectly,"  answered  Howie. 

"Your  word  is  law  to  me,  sir,"  said  Lynch. 

"Then  you  will  draw  on  me  personally  for  your  ex 
penses,  and  leave  for  the  South  within  forty-eight  hours. 
I  wish  ydur  reports  delivered  to  me  two  weeks  before  the 
meeting  of  Congress." 

As  Lynch  passed  through  the  hall  on  his  way  to  the  door, 


ioo  The  Clansman 

the  brown  woman  bade  him  good-night  and  pressed  into 
his  hand  a  letter. 

As  his  yellow  fingers  closed  on  the  missive,  his  eyes 
flashed  for  a  moment  with  catlike  humour. 

The  woman's  face  wore  the  mask  of  a  sphinx. 


CHAPTER   II 

SWEETHEARTS 

WHEN  the  first  shock  of  horror  at  her  husband's 
peril  passed,  it  left  a  strange  new  light  in  Mrs. 
Cameron's  eyes. 

The  heritage  of  centuries  of  heroic  blood  from  the  mar 
tyrs  of  old  Scotland  began  to  flash  its  inspiration  from  the 
past.  Her  heart  beat  with  the  unconscious  life  of  men 
and  women  who  had  stood  in  the  stocks,  and  walked  in 
chains  to  the  stake  with  songs  on  their  lips. 

The  threat  against  the  life  of  Doctor  Cameron  had  not 
only  stirred  her  martyr  blood:  it  had  roused  the  latent 
heroism  of  a  beautiful  girlhood.  To  her  he  had  ever 
been  the  lover  and  the  undimmed  hero  of  her  girlish 
dreams.  She  spent  whole  hours  locked  in  her  room 
alone.  Margaret  knew  that  she  was  on  her  knees.  She 
always  came  forth  with  shining  face  and  with  soft  words 
on  her  lips. 

She  struggled  for  two  months  in  vain  efforts  to  obtain  a 
single  interview  with  him,  or  to  obtain  a  copy  of  the 
charges.  Doctor  Cameron  had  been  placed  in  the  old 
Capitol  Prison,  already  crowded  to  the  utmost.  He  was 
in  delicate  health,  and  so  ill  when  she  had  left  home  he 
could  not  accompany  her  to  Richmond. 

Not  a  written  or  spoken  word  was  allowed  to  pass 

101 


T02  The  Clansman 

those  prison  doors.  She  could  communicate  with  him 
only  through  the  officers  in  charge.  Every  message  from 
hmi  was  the  same.  "I  love  you  always.  Do  not  worry. 
Go  home  the  moment  you  can  leave  Ben.  I  fear  the 
worst  at  Piedmont." 

When  he  had  sent  this  message,  he  would  sit  down  and 
write  the  truth  in  a  little  diary  he  kept: 

"Another  day  of  anguish.  How  long,  O  Lord?  Just 
one  touch  of  her  hand,  one  last  pressure  of  her  lips,  and  I 
am  content.  I  have  no  desire  to  live — I  am  tired." 

The  officers  repeated  the  verbal  messages,  but  they 
made  no  impression  on  Mrs.  Cameron.  By  a  mental 
telepathy  which  had  always  linked  her  life  with  his  her 
soul  had  passed  those  prison  bars.  If  he  had  written 
the  pitiful  record  with  a  dagger's  point  on  her  heart,  she 
could  not  have  felt  it  more  keenly. 

At  times  overwhelmed,  she  lay  prostrate  and  sobbed 
in  half-articulate  cries.  And  then  from  the  silence  and 
mystery  of  the  spirit  world  in  which  she  felt  the  beat  of  the 
heart  of  Eternal  Love  would  come  again  the  strange  peace 
that  passeth  understanding.  She  would  rise  and  go 
forth  to  her  task  with  a  smile. 

In  July  she  saw  Mrs.  Surratt  taken  from  this  old  Capitol 
Prison  to  be  hung  with  Payne,  Herold,  and  Atzerodt  for 
complicity  in  the  assassination.  The  military  commis 
sion  before  whom  this  farce  of  justice  was  enacted,  sus 
picious  of  the  testimony  of  the  perjured  wretches  who  had 
sworn  her  life  away,  had  filed  a  memorandum  with  their 
verdict  asking  the  President  for  mercy. 

President  Johnson  never  saw  this  memorandum.     It 


Sweethearts  103 

was  secretly  removed  in  the  War  Department,  and  only 
replaced  after  he  had  signed  the  death-warrant. 

In  vain  Annie  Surratt,  the  weeping  daughter,  flung 
herself  on  the  steps  of  the  White  House  on  the  fatal  day, 
begging  and  praying  to  see  the  President.  She  could 
not  believe  they  would  allow  her  mother  to  be  murdered 
in  the  face  of  a  recommendation  of  mercy.  The  fatal 
hour  struck  at  last,  and  the  girl  left  the  White  House  with 
set  eyes  and  blanched  face,  muttering  incoherent  curses. 

The  Chief  Magistrate  sat  within,  unconscious  of  the 
hideous  tragedy  that  was  being  enacted  in  his  name. 
When  he  discovered  the  infamy  by  which  he  had  been 
made  the  executioner  of  an  innocent  woman,  he  made  his 
first  demand  that  Edwin  M.  Stanton  resign  from  his 
cabinet  as  Secretary  of  War.  And,  for  the  first  time  in 
the  history  of  America,  a  cabinet  officer  waived  the  ques 
tion  of  honour  and  refused  to  resign. 

With  a  shudder  and  blush  of  shame,  strong  men  saw 
that  day  the  executioner  gather  the  ropes  tightly  three 
times  around  the  dress  of  an  innocent  American  mother 
and  bind  her  ankles  with  cords.  She  fainted  and  sank 
backward  upon  the  attendants,  the  poor  limbs  yielding 
at  last  to  the  mortal  terror  of  death.  But  they  propped 
her  up  and  sprung  the  fatal  trap. 

A  feeling  of  uncertainty  and  horror  crept  over  the  city 
and  the  Nation,  as  rumours  of  the  strange  doings  of  the 
"Bureau  of  Military  Justice,"  with  its  secret  factory  of 
testimony  and  powers  of  tampering  with  verdicts,  began 
to  find  their  way  in  whispered  stories  among  the  people. 

Public  opinion,  however,  had  as  yet  no  power  of  ad- 


104  The  Clansman 

justment.  It  was  an  hour  of  lapse  to  tribal  insanity. 
Things  had  gone  wrong.  The  demand  for  a  scapegoat, 
blind,  savage  and  unreasoning,  had  not  spent  itself.  The 
Government  could  do  anything  as  yet,  and  the  people 
would  applaud. 

Mrs.  Cameron  had  tried  in  vain  to  gain  a  hearing  be 
fore  the  President.  Each  time  she  was  directed  to  apply 
to  Mr.  Stanton.  She  refused  to  attempt  to  see  him,  and 
again  turned  to  Elsie  for  help.  She  had  learned  that  the 
same  witnesses  who  had  testified  against  Mrs.  Surratt 
were  being  used  to  convict  Doctor  Cameron,  and  her 
heart  was  sick  with  fear. 

"Ask  your  father,"  she  pleaded,  "to  write  President 
Johnson  a  letter  in  my  behalf.  Whatever  his  politics, 
he  can't  be  your  father  and  not  be  good  at  heart." 

Elsie  paled  for  a  moment.  It  was  the  one  request  she 
had  dreaded.  She  thought  of  her  father  and  Stanton 
with  dread.  How  far  he  was  supporting  the  Secretary 
of  War  she  could  only,  vaguely  guess.  He  rarely  spoke  of 
politics  to  her,  much  as  he  loved  her. 

"I'll  try,  Mrs.  Cameron,"  she  faltered.  "My  father 
is  in  town  to-day  and  takes  dinner  with  us  before  he  leaves 
for  Pennsylvania  to-night.  I'll  go  at  once." 

With  fear,  and  yet  boldly,  she  went  straight  home  to 
present  her  request.  She  knew  he  was  a  man  who 
never  cherished  small  resentments,  however  cruel  and 
implacable  might  be  his  public  policies.  And  yet  she 
dreaded  to  put  it  to  the  test. 

"Father,  I've  a  very  important  request  to  make  of  you," 
she  said,  gravely. 


Sweethearts  105 

"Very  well,  my  child,  you  need  not  be  so  solemn.  What 
is  it?" 

"I've  some  friends  in  great  distress — Mrs.  Cameron,  of 
South  Carolina,  and  her  daughter  Margaret." 

"Friends  of  yours?"  he  asked  with  an  incredulous 
smile.  "Where  on  earth  did  you  find  them?" 

"In  the  hospital,  of  course.  Mrs.  Cameron  is  not  al 
lowed  to  see  her  husband,  who  has  been  here  in  jail  for 
over  two  months.  He  can  not  write  to  her,  nor  can  he 
receive  a  letter  from  her.  He  is  on  trial  for  his  life,  is  ill 
and  helpless,  and  is  not  allowed  to  know  the  charges 
against  him,  while  hired  witnesses  and  detectives  have 
broken  open  his  house,  searched  his  papers,  and  are  ran 
sacking  heaven  and  earth  to  convict  him  of  a  crime  of 
which  he  never  dreamed.  It's  a  shame.  You  don't  ap 
prove  of  such  things,  I  know?" 

"What's  the  use  of  my  expressing  an  opinion  when  you 
have  already  settled  it  ? "  he  answered,  good-humouredly. 

"You  don't  approve  of  such  injustice?" 

"Certainly  not,  my  child.  Stanton's  frantic  efforts  to 
hang  a  lot  of  prominent  Southern  men  for  complicity  in 
Booth's  crime  is  sheer  insanity.  Nobody  who  has  any 
sense  believes  them  guilty.  As  a  politician  I  use  popular 
clamour  for  my  purposes,  but  I  am  not  an  idiot.  When 
I  go  gunning,  I  never  use  a  pop-gun  or  hunt  small  game." 

"Then  you  will  write  the  President  a  letter  asking  that 
they  be  allowed  to  see  Doctor  Cameron  ? " 

The  old  man  frowned. 

"Think,  father,  if  you  were  in  jail  and  friendless,  and  I 
were  trying  to  see  you " 


io6  The  Clansman 

"Tut,  tut,  my  dear,  it's  not  that  I  am  unwilling — I  was 
only  thinking  of  the  unconscious  humour  of  my  making  a 
request  of  the  man  who  at  present  accidentally  occupies 
the  White  House.  Of  all  the  men  on  earth,  this  alien 
from  the  province  of  Tennessee!  But  I'll  do  it  for  you. 
When  did  you  ever  know  me  to  deny  my  help  to  a  weak 
man  or  woman  in  distress  ? " 

"Never,  father.  I  was  sure  you  would  do  it,"  she 
answered,  warmly. 

He  wrote  the  letter  at  once  and  handed  it  to  her. 

She  bent  and  kissed  him. 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  know  that  you  have 
no  part  in  such  injustice." 

"You  should  not  have  believed  me  such  a  fool,  but  I'll 
forgive  you  for  the  kiss.  Run  now  with  this  letter  to  your 
rebel  friends,  you  little  traitor!  Wait  a  minute " 

He  shuffled  to  his  feet,  placed  his  hand  tenderly  on  her 
head,  and  stooped  and  kissed  the  shining  hair. 

"I  wonder  if  you  know  how  I  love  you?  How  I've 
dreamed  of  your  future?  I  may  not  see  you  every  day 
as  I  wish;  I'm  absorbed  in  great  affairs.  But  more  and 
more  I  think  of  you  and  Phil.  I'll  have  a  big  surprise 
for  you  both  some  day." 

"Your  love  is  all  I  ask,"  she  answered,  simply. 

Within  an  hour,  Mrs.  Cameron  found  herself  before 
the  new  President.  The  letter  had  opened  the  door  as 
by  magic.  She  poured  out  her  story  with  impetuous 
eloquence  while  Mr.  Johnson  listened  in  uneasy  silence. 
His  ruddy  face,  his  hesitating  manner  and  restless  eyes 
were  in  striking  contrast  to  the  conscious  power  of  the 


Sweethearts  107 

tall  dark  man  who  had  listened  so  tenderly  and  sympa 
thetically  to  her  story  of  Ben  but  a  few  weeks  before. 

The  President  asked: 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Stanton?" 

"I  have  seen  him  once,"  she  cried  with  sudden  passion. 
"It  is  enough.  If  that  man  were  God  on  His  throne,  I 
would  swear  allegiance  to  the  Devil  and  fight  him!" 

The  President  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  his  lips  twitched 
with  a  smile: 

"I  shouldn't  say  that  your  spirits  are  exactly  drooping! 
I'd  like  to  be  near  and  hear  you  make  that  remark  to  the 
distinguished  Secretary  of  War." 

"Will  you  grant  my  prayer?"  she  pleaded. 

"I  will  consider  the  matter,"  he  promised,  evasively. 

Mrs.  Cameron's  heart  sank. 

"Mr.  President,"  she  cried,  bitterly,  "I  have  felt  sure 
that  I  had  but  to  see  you  face  to  face  and  you  could  not 
deny  me.  Surely,  it  is  but  justice  that  he  have  the  right 
to  see  his  loved  ones,  to  consult  with  counsel,  to  know  the 
charges  against  him,  and  defend  his  life  when  attacked  in 
his  poverty  and  ruin  by  all  the  power  of  a  mighty  govern 
ment?  He  is  feeble  and  broken  in  health  and  suffering 
from  wounds  received  carrying  the  flag  of  the  Union  to 
victory  in  Mexico.  Whatever  his  errors  of  judgment  in 
this  war,  it  is  a  shame  that  a  Nation  for  which  he  once 
bared  his  breast  in  battle  should  treat  him  as  an  outlaw 
without  a  trial." 

"You  must  remember,  Madam,"  interrupted  the 
President,  "that  these  are  extraordinary  times,  and  that 
popular  clamour,  however  unjust,  will  make  itself  felt 


io8  The  Clansman 

and  must  be  heeded  by  those  in  power.  I  am  sorry  for 
you,  and  I  trust  it  may  be  possible  for  me  to  grant  your 
request." 

"But  I  wish  it  now,"  she  urged.  "He  sends  me  word 
I  must  go  home.  I  can't  leave  without  seeing  him.  I 
will  die  first." 

She  drew  closer  and  continued  in  throbbing  tones: 

"Mr,  President,  you  are  a  native  Carolinian — you  are 
of  Scotch  Covenanter  blood.  You  are  of  my  own  people 
of  the  great  past,  whose  tears  and  sufferings  are  our  com 
mon  glory  and  birthright.  Come,  you  must  hear  me — 
I  will  take  no  denial.  Give  me  now  the  order  to  see  my 
husband!" 

The  President  hesitated,  struggling  with  deep  emotion, 
called  his  secretary  and  gave  the  order. 

As  she  hurried  away  with  Elsie,  who  insisted  on  accom 
panying  her  to  the  jail  door,  the  girl  said: 

"Mrs.  Cameron,  I  fear  you  are  without  money.  You 
must  let  me  help  you  until  you  can  return  it." 

"You  are  the  dearest  little  heart  I've  met  in  all  the  world, 
I  think  sometimes,"  said  the  older  woman,  looking  at  her 
tenderly.  "I  wonder  how  I  can  ever  pay  you  for  half 
you've  done  already." 

"The  doing  of  it  has  been  its  own  reward,"  was  the 
soft  reply.  "  May  I  help  you  ?" 

"  If  I  need  it,  yes.  But  I  trust  it  will  not  be  necessary. 
I  still  have  a  little  store  of  gold  Doctor  Cameron  was  wise 
enough  to  hoard  during  the  war.  I  brought  half  of  it 
with  me  when  I  left  home,  and  we  buried  the  rest.  I  hope 
to  find  it  on  my  return.  And  if  we  can  save  the  twenty 


Sweethearts  109 

bales  of  cotton  we  have  hidden  we  shall  be  relieved  of 
want." 

"I'm  ashamed  of  my  country  when  I  think  of  such 
ignoble  methods  as  have  been  used  against  Doctor  Cam 
eron.  My  father  is  indignant  too." 

The  last  sentence  Elsie  spoke  with  eager  girlish  pride. 

"I  am  very  grateful  to  your  father  for  his  letter.  I  am 
sorry  he  has  left  the  city  before  I  could  meet  and  thank 
him  personally.  You  must  tell  him  for  me." 

At  the  jail  the  order  of  the  President  was  not  honoured 
for  three  hours,  and  Mrs.  Cameron  paced  the  street  in 
angry  impatience  at  first  and  then  in  dull  despair. 

"Do  you  think  that  man  Stanton  would  dare  defy  the 
President?"  she  asked,  anxiously. 

"No,"  said  Elsie,  "but  he  is  delaying  as  long  as  possible 
as  an  act  of  petty  tyranny." 

At  last  the  messenger  arrived  from  the  War  Depart 
ment  permitting  an  order  of  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  the 
Nation,  the  Commander-in-Chief  of  its  Army  and  Navy, 
to  be  executed. 

The  grated  door  swung  on  its  heavy  hinges,  and  the 
wife  and  mother  lay  sobbing  in  the  arms  of  the  lover  of 
her  youth. 

For  two  hours  they  poured  into  each  other's  hearts  the 
story  of  their  sorrows  and  struggles  during  the  six  fateful 
months  that  had  passed.  When  she  would  return  from 
every  theme  back  to  his  danger,  he  would  laugh  her  fears 
to  scorn. 

"Nonsense,  my  dear,  I'm  as  innocent  as  a  babe.  Mr. 
Davis  was  suffering  from  erysipelas,  and  I  kept  him  in 


no  The  Clansman 

my  house  that  night  to  relieve  his  pain.  It  will  all  blow 
over.  I'm  happy  now  that  I  have  seen  you.  Ben  will 
be  up  in  a  few  days.  You  must  return  at  once.  You 
have  no  idea  of  the  wild  chaos  at  home.  I  left  Jake  in 
charge.  I  have  implicit  faith  in  him,  but  there's  no  tell 
ing  what  may  happen.  I  will  not  spend  another  moment 
in  peace  until  you  go." 

The  proud  old  man  spoke  of  his  own  danger  with  easy 
assurance.  He  was  absolutely  certain,  since  the  day  of 
Mrs.  Surratt's  execution,  that  he  would  be  railroaded  to 
the  gallows  by  the  same  methods.  He  had  long  looked 
on  the  end  with  indifference,  and  had  ceased  to  desire  to 
live  except  to  see  his  loved  ones  again. 

In  vain  she  warned  him  of  danger. 

"My  peril  is  nothing,  my  love,"  he  answered,  quietly. 
"  At  home,  the  horrors  of  a  servile  reign  of  terror  have  be 
come  a  reality.  These  prison  walls  do  not  interest  me. 
My  heart  is  with  our  stricken  people.  You  must  go  home. 
Our  neighbour,  Mr.  Lenoir,  is  slowly  dying.  His  wife  will 
always  be  a  child.  Little  Marion  is  older  and  more  self- 
reliant.  I  feel  as  if  they  are  our  own  children.  There 
are  so  many  who  need  us.  They  have  always  looked 
to  me  for  guidance  and  help.  You  can  do  more 
v  for  them  than  any  one  else.  My  calling  is  to  heal 
others.  You  have  always  helped  me.  Do  now  as  I 
ask  you." 

At  last  she  consented  to  leave  for  Piedmont  on  the  fol 
lowing  day,  and  he  smiled. 

"Kiss  Ben  and  Margaret  for  me  and  tell  them  that  111 
be  with  them  soon,"  he  said,  cheerily.  He  meant  in  the 


Sweethearts  in 

spirit,  not  the  flesh.  Not  the  faintest  hope  of  We  even 
flickered  in  his  mind. 

In  the  last  farewell  embrace  a  faint  tremor  of  the 
soul,  half-sigh,  half-groan,  escaped  his  lips,  and  he  drew 
her  again  to  his  breast,  whispering: 

"Always  my  sweetheart,  good,  beautiful,  brave  and 
truel" 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  JOY  OF  LIVING 

WITHIN  two  weeks  after  the  departure  of  Mrs. 
Cameron  and  Margaret,  the  wounded  soldier 
had  left  the  hospital  with  Elsie's  hand  resting 
on  his  arm  and  her  keen  eyes  watching  his  faltering  steps. 
She  had  promised  Margaret  to  take  her  place  until  he 
was  strong  again.  She  was  afraid  to  ask  herself  the 
meaning  of  the  songs  that  were  welling  up  from  the  depth 
of  her  own  soul.  She  told  herself  again  and  again  that 
she  was  fulfilling  her  ideal  of  unselfish  human  service. 

Ben's  recovery  was  rapid,  and  he  soon  began  to  give 
evidence  of  his  boundless  joy  in  the  mere  fact  of  life. 

He  utterly  refused  to  believe  his  father  in  danger. 

"What,  my  dad  a  conspirator,  an  assassin!"  he  cried, 
with  a  laugh.  "Why,  he  wouldn't  kill  a  flea  without 
apologising  to  it.  And  as  for  plots  and  dark  secrets, 
he  never  had  a  secret  in  his  life  and  couldn't  keep  one 
if  he  had  it.  My  mother  keeps  all  the  family  secrets. 
Crime  couldn't  stick  to  him  any  more  than  dirty  water 
to  a  duck's  back!" 

"But  we  must  secure  his  release  on  parole,  that  he  may 
defend  himself." 

"Of  course.  But  we  won't  cross  any  bridges  till  we 
come  to  them.  I  never  saw  things  so  bad  they  couldn't 


The  Joy  of  Living  113 

be  worse.     Just  think  what   I've   been  through.     The 
war's  over.     Don't  worry." 

He  looked  at  her  tenderly. 

"  Get  that  banjo  and  play'  Get  Out  of  the  Wilderness! ' " 

His  spirit  was  contagious  and  his  good-humour  resistless. 
Elsie  spent  the  days  of  his  convalescence  in  an  uncon 
scious  glow  of  pleasure  in  his  companionship.  His  hand 
some  boyish  face,  his  bearing,  his  whole  personality,  in 
vited  frankness  and  intimacy.  It  was  a  divine  gift,  this 
magnetism,  the  subtle  meeting  of  quick  intelligence,  tact, 
and  sympathy.  His  voice  was  tender  and  penetrating, 
with  soft  caresses  in  its  tones.  His  vision  of  life  was  large 
and  generous,  with  a  splendid  carelessness  about  little 
things  that  didn't  count.  Each  day  Elsie  saw  new  and 
striking  traits  of  his  character  which  drew  her. 

"What  will  we  do  if  Stanton  arrests  you  one  of  these 
fine  days?"  she  asked  him  one  day. 

"Afraid  they'll  nab  me  for  something!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Well,  that  is  a  joke!  Don't  you  worry.  The  Yankees 
know  who  to  fool  with.  I  licked  'em  too  many  times  for 
them  to  bother  me  any  more." 

"  I  was  under  the  impression  that  you  got  licked,"  Elsie 
observed. 

"  Don't  you  believe  it.  We  wore  ourselves  out  whipping 
the  other  fellows." 

Elsie  smiled,  took  up  the  banjo,  and  asked  him  to  sing 
while  she  played. 

She  had  no  idea  that  he  could  sing,  yet  to  her  surprise 
he  sang  his  camp-songs  boldly,  tenderly,  and  with  deep, 
expressive  feeling. 


1 14  The  Clansman 

As  the  girl  listened,  the  memory  of  the  horrible  hours  of 
suspense  she  had  spent  with  his  mother  when  his  uncon 
scious  life  hung  on  a  thread  came  trooping  back  into  her 
heart  and  a  tear  dimmed  her  eyes. 

And  he  began  to  look  at  her  with  a  new  wonder  and  joy 
slowly  growing  in  his  soul. 


CHAPTER  IV 
HIDDEN  TREASURE 

BEN  had  spent  a  month  of  vain  effort  to  secure  his 
father's  release.  He  had  succeeded  in  obtaining 
for  him  a  removal  to  more  comfortable  quarters, 
books  to  read,  and  the  privilege  of  a  daily  walk  under 
guard  and  parole.  The  doctor's  genial  temper,  the  wide 
range  of  his  knowledge,  the  charm  of  his  personality,  and 
his  heroism  in  suffering  had  captivated  the  surgeons  who 
attended  him  and  made  friends  of  every  jailer  and  guard. 

Elsie  was  now  using  all  her  woman's  wit  to  secure  a 
copy  of  the  charges  against  him  as  formulated  by  the 
Judge  Advocate  General,  who,  in  defiance  of  civil  law, 
still  claimed  control  of  these  cases. 

To  the  boy's  sanguine  temperament  the  whole  proceed 
ing  had  been  a  huge  farce  from  the  beginning,  and  at  the 
last  interview  with  his  father  he  had  literally  laughed  him 
into  a  good  humour. 

"Look  here,  Pa,"  he  cried.  "I  believe  you're  trying 
to  slip  off  and  leave  us  in  this  mess.  It's  not  fair.  It's 
easy  to  die." 

"Who  said  I  was  going  to  die?" 

"I  heard  you  were  trying  to  crawl  out  that  way." 

"Well,  it's  a  mistake.  I'm  going  to  live  just  for  the 
fun  of  disappointing  my  enemies  and  to  keep  you  com- 

"5 


I 

116  The  Clansman 

pany.  But  you'd  better  get  hold  of  a  copy  of  these 
charges  against  me — if  you  don't  want  me  to  escape." 

"It's  a  funny  world  if  a  man  can  be  condemned  to 
death  without  any  information  on  the  subject." 

"My  son,  we  are  now  in  the  hands  of  the  revolutionists, 
army  sutlers,  contractors,  and  adventurers.  The  Nation 
will  touch  the  lowest  tide-mud  of  its  degradation  within 
the  next  few  years.  No  man  can  predict  the  end." 

"Oh,  go'  long! "  said  Ben.  "You've  got  jail  cobwebs  in 
your  eyes." 

"I'm  depending  on  you." 

"  I'll  pull  you  through  if  you  don't  lie  down  on  me  and 
die  to  get  out  of  trouble.  You  know  you  can  die  if  you 
try  hard  enough." 

"  I  promise  you,  my  boy,"  he  said  with'  a  laugh. 

"Then  I'll  let  you  read  this  letter  from  home,"  Ben 
said,  suddenly  thrusting  it  before  him. 

The  doctor's  hand  trembled  a  little  as  he  put  on  his 
glasses  and  read: 

My  Dear  Boy:  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  good  your  bright 
letters  have  done  us.  It's  like  opening  the  window  and  letting 
in  the  sunlight  while  fresh  breezes  blow  through  one's  soul. 

Margaret  and  I  have  had  stirring  times.  I  send  you  inclosed 
an  order  for  the  last  dollar  of  money  we  have  left.  You  must 
hoard  it.  Make  it  last  until  your  father  is  safe  at  home.  I 
dare  not  leave  it  here.  Nothing  is  safe.  Every  piece  of  silver 
and  everything  that  could  be  carried  has  been  stolen  since  we 
returned. 

Uncle  Aleck  betrayed  the  place  Jake  had  hidden  our  twenty 
precious  bales  of  cotton.  The  war  is  long  since  over,  but  the 
"Treasury  Agent"  declared  them  confiscated,  and  then  offered 
to  relieve  us  of  his  order  if  we  gave  him  five  bales,  each  worth 
three  hundred  dollars  in  gold.  I  agreed,  and  within  a  week 


Hidden  Treasure 

another  thief  came  and  declared  the  other  fifteen  bales  confis 
cated.  They  steal  it,  and  the  Government  never  gets  a  cent. 
We  dared  not  try  to  sell  it  in  open  market,  as  every  bale 
exposed  for  sale  is  "confiscated"  at  once. 

No  crop  was  planted  this  summer.  The  negroes  are  all 
drawing  rations  at  the  Freedman's  Bureau. 

We  have  turned  our  house  into  a  hotel,  and  our  table  has 
become  famous.  Margaret  is  a  treasure.  She  has  learned  to 
do  everything.  We  tried  to  raise  a  crop  o*n  the  farm  when  we 
came  home,  but  the  negroes  stopped  work.  The  Agent  of  the 
'  Bureau  came  to  us  and  said  he  could  send  them  back  for  a  fee 
of  $50.  We  paid  it,  and  they  worked  a  week.  We  found  it 
easier  to  run  a  hotel.  We  hope  to  start  the  farm  next  year. 

Our  new  minister  at  the  Presbyterian  Church  is  young,, 
handsome,  and  eloquent — Rev.  Hugh  McAlpin. 

Mr.  Lenoir  died  last  week — but  his  end  was  so  beautiful, 
our  tears  were  half  joy.  He  talked  incessantly  of  your  father 
and  how  the  country  missed  him.  He  seemed  much  better  the 
day  before  the  end  came,  and  we  took  him  for  a  little  drive  to 
Lovers'  Leap.  It  was  there,  sixteen  years  ago,  he  made  love  to 
Jeannie.  When  we  propped  him  up  on  the  rustic  seat,  and  he 
looked  out  over  the  cliif  and  the  river  below,  I  have  never  seen- 
a  face  so  transfigured  with  peace  and  joy. 

"What  a  beautiful  world  it  is,  my  dears!"  he  exclaimed, 
taking  Jeannie  and  Marion  both  by  the  hand. 

They  began  to  cry,  and  he  said  with  a  smile: 

"  Come  now — do  you  love  me  ?  " 

And  they  covered  his  hands  with  kisses. 

"Well,  then  you  must  promise  me  two  things  faithfully  here, 
with  Mrs.  Cameron  to  witness!" 

"We  promise,"  they  both  said  in  a  breath. 

"That  when  I  fall  asleep,  not  one  thread  of  black  shall  ever 
cloud  the  sunlight  of  our  little  home,  that  you  will  never  wear 
it,  and  that  you  will  show  your  love  for  me  by  making  my 
flowers  grow  richer,  that  you  will  keep  my  memory  green  by 
always  being  as  beautiful  as  you  are  to-day,  and  make  this  old 
world  a  sweeter  place  to  live  in.  I  wish  you,  Jeannie,  my 
mate,  to  keep  on  making  the  young  people  glad.  Don't  let  their 
joys  be  less  even  for  a  month  because  I  have  laid  down  to  rest. 
Let  them  sing  and  dance " 

"Oh,  Papa!"  cried  Marion. 

"Certainly,  my  little  serious  beauty — I'll  not  be  far  away, 


xi8  The  Clansmau 

I'll  be  near  and  breathe  my  songs  into  their  hearts,  and  into 
yours — you  both  promise?" 

"Yes,  yes!"  they  both  cried. 

As  we  drove  back  through  the  woods,  he  smiled  tenderly  and 
said  to  me: 

"My  neighbour,  Doctor  Cameron,  pays  taxes  on  these  woods, 
but  I  own  them!  Their  sighing  boughs,  stirred  by  the  breezes, 
have  played  for  me  oratorios  grander  than  all  the  scores  of 
human  genius.  I'll  hear  the  Choir  Invisible  play  them  when 
I  sleep." 

He  died  that  night  suddenly.    With  his  last  breath  he  sighed : 

" Draw  the  curtains  and  let  me  see  again  the  moonlit  woods! " 

They  are  trying  to  carry  out  his  wishes.  I  found  they  had 
nothing  to  eat,  and  that  he  had  really  died  from  insufficient 
nourishment — a  polite  expression  meaning  starvation.  I've 
divided  half  our  little  store  with  them  and  send  the  rest  to  you. 
I  think  Marion  more  and  more  the  incarnate  soul  of  her  father. 
I  feel  as  if  they  are  both  my  children. 

My  little  grandchick,  Hugh,  is  the  sweetest  youngster  alive. 
He  was  a  wee  thing  when  you  left.  Mrs.  Lenoir  kept  him 
when  they  arrested  your  father.  He  is  so  much  like  your 
brother  Hugh  I  feel  as  if  he  has  come  to  life  again.  You  should 
hear  him  say  grace,  so  solemnly  and  tenderly,  we  can't  help 
crying.  He  made  it  up  himself.  This  is  what  he  says  at 
every  meal: 

"God,  please  give  my  grandpa  something  good  to  eat  in 
jail,  keep  him  well,  don't  let  the  pains  hurt  him  any  more,  and 
bring  him  home  to  me  quick,  for  Jesus'  sake.  Amen." 

I  never  knew  before  how  the  people  loved  the  doctor,  nor  how 
dependent  they  were  on  him  for  help  and  guidance.  Men, 
both  white  and  coloured,  come  here  every  day  to  ask  about  him. 
Some  of  them  come  from  far  up  in  the  mountains. 

God  alone  knows  how  lonely  our  home  and  the  world  has 
seemed  without  him.  They  say  that  those  who  love  and  live 
the  close  sweet  home-life  for  years  g~ow  alike  in  soul  and  body, 
in  tastes,  ways,  and  habits.  I  find  it  so.  People  have  told  me 
that  your  father  and  I  are  more  alike  than  brother  and  sister 
of  the  same  blood.  In  spirit  I'm  sure  it's  true.  I  know  you 
love  him  and  that  you  will  leave  nothing  undone  for  his  health 
and  safety.  Tell  him  that  my  only  cure  for  loneliness  in  his 
absence  is  my  fight  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  and  save 
our  home  against  his  coming.  Lovingly,  your  MOTHER, 


Hidden  Treasure  119 

When  the  Doctor  had  finished  the  reading,  he  looked 
out  the  window  of  the  jail  at  the  shining  dome  of  the 
Capitol  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

"Do  you  know,  my  boy,  that  you  have  the  heritage  of 
royal  blood  ?  You  are  the  child  of  a  wonderful  mother. 
I'm  ashamed  when  I  think  of  the  helpless  stupor  under 
which  I  have  given  up,  and  then  remember  the  deathless 
courage  with  which  she  has  braved  it  all — the  loss  of  her 
boys,  her  property,  your  troubles  and  mine.  She  has 
faced  the  world  alone  like  a  wounded  lioness  standing 
over  her  cubs.  And  now  she  turns  her  home  into  a  hotel, 
and  begins  life  in  a  strange  new  world  without  one  doubt 
of  her  success.  The  South  is  yet  rich  even  in  its  ruin." 

"Then  you'll  fight  and  go  back  to  her  with  me?" 

"Yes,   never  fear." 

"Good!  You  see,  we're  so  poor  now,  Pa,  you're  lucky 
to  be  saving  a  board  bill  here.  I'd  *  conspire*  myself  and 
come  in  with  you  but  for  the  fact  it  would  hamper  me  ft 
little  in  helping  you." 


CHAPTER  V 

ACROSS  THE  CHASM 

WHEN  Ben  had  fully  recovered  and  his  father's 
case  looked  hopeful,  Elsie  turned  to  her  study 
of  music,  and  the  Southern  boy  suddenly  waked 
to  the  fact  that  the  great  mystery  of  life  was  upon  him. 
He  was  in  love  at  last — genuinely,  deeply,  without  one 
reservation.  He  had  from  habit  flirted  in  a  harmless  way 
with  every  girl  he  knew.  He  left  home  with  little  Marion 
Lenoir's  girlish  kiss  warm  on  his  lips.  He  had  made 
love  to  many  a  pretty  girl  in  old  Virginia  as  the  red  tide 
of  war  had  ebbed  and  flowed  around  Stuart's  magic 
camps. 

But  now  the  great  hour  of  the  soul  had  struck.  No 
sooner  had  he  dropped  the  first  tender  words  that  might 
have  their  double  meaning,  feeling  his  way  cautiously 
toward  her,  than  she  had  placed  a  gulf  of  dignity  between 
them,  and  attempted  to  cut  every  tie  that  bound  her  life 
to  his. 

It  had  been  so  sudden  it  took  his  breath  away.  Could 
he  win  her  ?  The  word  "  fail "  had  never  been  in  his  vo 
cabulary.  It  had  never  run  in  the  speech  of  his  people, 

Yes,  he  would  win  if  it  was  the  only  thing  he  did  in 
this  world.  And  forthwith  he  set  about  it.  Life  took  on 
new  meaning  and  new  glory.  What  mattered  war  or 

120 


Across  the  Chasm  121 

wounds,  pain  or  poverty,  jails  and  revolutions — it  was  the 
dawn  of  life! 

He  sent  her  a  flower  every  day  and  pinned  one  just  like 
it  on  his  coat.  And  every  night  found  him  seated  by  her 
side.  She  greeted  him  cordially,  but  the  gulf  yawned 
between  them.  His  courtesy  and  self-control  struck  her 
with  surprise  and  admiration.  In  the  face  of  her  coldness 
he  carried  about  him  an  air  of  smiling  deference  and 
gallantry. 

She  finally  told  him  of  her  determination  to  go 
to  New  York  to  pursue  her  studies  until  Phil  had 
finished  the  term  of  his  enlistment  in  his  regiment, 
which  had  been  ordered  on  permanent  duty  in  the 
West. 

He  laughed  with  his  eyes  at  this  announcement,  blinking 
the  lashes  rapidly  without  moving  his  lips.  It  was  a 
peculiar  habit  of  his  when  deeply  moved  by  a  sudden 
thought.  It  had  flashed  over  him  like  lightning  that  she 
was  trying  to  get  away  from  him.  She  would  not  do  that 
unless  she  cared. 

"When  are  you  going?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

"Day  after  to-morrow." 

"Then  you  will  give  me  one  afternoon  for  a  sail  on  the 
river  to  say  good-bye  and  thank  you  for  what  you  have 
done  for  me  and  mine?" 

She  hesitated,  laughed,  and  refused. 

"To-morrow  at  four  o'clock  I'll  call  for  you,"  he  said 
firmly.  "If  there's  no  wind,  we  can  drift  with  the  tide." 

"I  will  not  have  time  to  go." 

"Promptly  at  four,"  he  repeated  as  he  left. 


122  The  Clansman 

Ben  spent  hours  that  night  weighing  the  question  of 
how  far  he  should  dare  to  speak  his  love.  It  had  been 
such  an  easy  thing  before.  Now  it  seemed  a  question  of 
life  and  death.  Twice  the  magic  words  had  been  on  his 
lips,  and  each  time  something  hi  her  manner  chilled  him 
into  silence. 

Was  she  cold  and  incapable  of  love?  No;  this 
manner  of  the  North  was  on  the  surface.  He  knew  that 
deep  down  within  her  nature  lay  banked  and  smouldering 
fires  of  passion  for  the  one  man  whose  breath  could  stir 
it  into  flame.  He  felt  this  all  the  keener  now  that  the 
spell  of  her  companionship  and  the  sweet  intimacy  of  her 
daily  ministry  to  him  had  been  broken.  The  memory 
of  little  movements  of  her  petite  figure,  the  glance  of  her 
warm  amber  eyes,  and  the  touch  of  her  hand — all  had  their 
tongues  of  revelation  to  his  eager  spirit. 

He  found  her  ready  at  four  o'clock. 

"You  see  I  decided  to  go  after  all,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  knew  you  would,"  he  answered. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  simple  suit  of  navy-blue  cloth  cut 
V-shaped  at  the  throat,  showing  the  graceful  lines  of  her 
exquisite  neck  as  it  melted  into  the  plump  shoulders. 
She  had  scorned  hoop-skirts. 

He  admired  her  for  this,  and  yet  it  made  him  uneasy. 
A  woman  who  could  defy  an  edict  of  fashion  was  a  new 
thing  under  the  sun,  and  it  scared  him. 

They  were  seated  in  the  little  sail-boat  now,  drifting 
out  with  the  tide.  It  was  a  perfect  day  in  October,  one 
of  those  matchless  days  of  Indian  summer  in  the  Virginia 
<climate  when  an  infinite  peace  and  vast  brooding  silence 


Across  the  Chasm  123 

fill  the  earth  and  sky  until  one  feels  that  words  are  a 
sacrilege. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  for  minutes,  and  his  heart 
grew  bold  in  the  stillness.  No  girl  could  be  still  who 
was  unmoved. 

She  was  seated  just  in  front  of  him  on  the  left,  with 
her  hand  idly  rippling  the  surface  of  the  silvery  waters, 
gazing  at  the  wooded  cliff  on  the  river  banks  clothed 
now  in  their  gorgeous  robes  of  yellow,  purple,  scarlet, 
and  gold. 

The  soft  strains  of  distant  music  came  from  a  band  in 
the  fort,  and  her  hand  in  the  rippling  water  seemed  its 
accompaniment. 

Ben  was  conscious  only  of  her  presence.  Every  sight 
and  sound  of  nature  seemed  to  be  blended  in  her  presence. 
Never  in  all  his  life  had  he  seen  anything  so  delicately 
beautiful  as  the  ripe  rose  colour  of  her  cheeks,  and  all  the 
tints  of  autumn's  glory  seemed  to  melt  into  the  gold  of 
her  hair. 

And  those  eyes  he  felt  that  God  had  never  set  in  such 
a  face  before — rich  amber,  warm  and  glowing,  big  and 
candid,  courageous  and  truthful. 

"Are  you  dead  again?"  she  asked,  demurely. 

"Well,  as  the  Irishman  said  in  answer  to  his  mate's 
question  when  he  fell  off  the  house,  'not  dead — but 
spacheless.' " 

He  was  quick  to  see  the  opening  her  question  with  its 
memories  had  made,  and  took  advantage  of  it. 

"Look  here,  Miss  Elsie,  you're  too  honest/  independ 
ent,  and  candid  to  play  hide-and-seek  with  me.  I  want 


124  The  Clansman 

to  ask  you  a  plain  question.  You've  been  trying  to  pick 
a  quarrel  of  late.  What  have  I  done?" 

"Nothing.  It  has  simply  come  to  me  that  our  lives 
are  far  apart.  The  gulf  between  us  is  real  and  very  deep. 
Your  father  was  but  yesterday  a  slaveholder " 

Ben  grinned: 

"Yes,  your  slave-trading  grandfather  sold  them  to  us 
the  day  before." 

Elsie  blushed  and  bristled  for  a  fight. 

"You  won't  mind  if  I  give  you  a  few  lessons  in  history, 
will  you?"  Ben  asked,  softly. 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  didn't  know  that  Southerners 
studied  history,"  she  answered,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"We  made  a  specialty  of  the  history  of  slavery,  at  least. 
I  had  a  dear  old  teacher  at  home  who  fairly  blazed  with 
light  on  this  subject.  He  is  one  of  the  best-read  men  in 
America.  He  happens  to  be  in  jail  just  now.  But  I 
haven't  forgotten — I  know  it  by  heart." 

"I  am  waiting  for  light,"  she  interrupted,  cynically. 

"The  South  is  no  more  to  blame  for  Negro  slavery 
than  the  North.  Our  slaves  were  stolen  from  Africa 
by  Yankee  skippers.  When  a  slaver  arrived  at  Boston, 
your  pious  Puritan  clergyman  offered  public  prayer  of 
thanks  that  *  A  gracious  and  overruling  Providence  had 
been  pleased  to  bring  to  this  land  of  freedom  another 
cargo  of  benighted  heathen  to  enjoy  the  blessings  of  a 
gospel  dispensation '" 

She  looked  at  him  with  angry  incredulity  and  cried: 

"Go  on." 

"Twenty-three  times  the  Legislature  of  Virginia  passed 


Across  the  Chasm  125 

acts  against  the  importation  of  slaves,  which  the  King 
vetoed  on  petition  of  the  Massachusetts  slave-traders. 
Jefferson  made  these  acts  of  the  King  one  of  the  grievances 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  but  a  Massachusetts 
member  succeeded  in  striking  it  out.  The  Southern  men 
in  the  convention  which  framed  the  Constitution  put  into 
it  a  clause  abolishing  the  slave-trade,  but  the  Massachu 
setts  men  succeeded  in  adding  a  clause  extending  the 
trade  twenty  years " 

He  smiled  and  paused. 

"Go  on,"  she  said,  with  impatience. 

"In  Colonial  days  a  negro  woman  was  publicly  burned 
to  death  in  Boston.  The  first  Abolition  paper  was  pub 
lished  in  Tennessee  by  Embree.  Benjamin  Lundy,  his 
successor,  could  not  find  a  single  Abolitionist  in  Boston. 
In  1828  over  half  the  people  of  Tennessee  favoured  Aboli 
tion.  At  this  time  there  were  one  hundred  and  forty 
Abolition  Societies  in  America — one  hundred  and  three  in 
the  South,  and  not  one  in  Massachusetts.  It  was  not 
until  1836  that  Massachusetts  led  in  Abolition — not  until 
all  her  own  slaves  had  been  sold  to  us  at  a  profit  and  the 
slave-trade  had  been  destroyed " 

She  looked  at  Ben  with  anger  for  a  moment  and  met  his 
tantalising  look  of  good-humour. 

"Can  you  stand  any  more?" 

"Certainly,  I  enjoy  it." 

"I'm  just  breaking  down  the  barriers — so  to  speak," 
he  said,  with  the  laughter  still  lurking  in  his  eyes,  as  he 
looked  steadily  ahead. 

"By  all  means,  go  on,"  she  said,  soberly.     "I  thought 


i26  The  Clansman 

at  first  you  were  trying  to  tease  me.  I  see  that  you  are  in 
earnest." 

"Never  more  so.  This  is  about  the  only  little  path  of 
history  I'm  at  home  in — I  love  to  show  off  in  it.  I  heard 
a  cheerful  idiot  say  the  other  day  that  your  father  meant 
to  carry  the  civilisation  of  Massachusetts  to  the  Rio 
Grande  until  we  had  a  Democracy  in  America.  I  smiled. 
While  Massachusetts  was  enforcing  laws  about  the  dress 
of  the  rich  and  the  poor,  founding  a  church  with  a  whip 
ping-post,  jail,  and  gibbet,  and  limiting  the  right  to  vote 
to  a  church  membership  fixed  by  pew-rents,  Carolina  was 
the  home  of  freedom  where  first  the  equal  rights  of  men 
were  proclaimed.  New  England  people  worth  less  than 
one  thousand  dollars  were  prohibited  by  law  from  wearing 
the  garb  of  a  gentleman,  gold  or  silver  lace,  buttons  on 
the  knees,  or  to  walk  in  great  boots,  or  their  women  to 
wear  silk  or  scarfs,  while  the  Quakers,  Maryland  Catho 
lics,  Baptists,  and  Scotch-Irish  Presbyterians  were  every 
where  in  the  South  the  heralds  of  man's  equality  before 
the  law." 

"But  barring  our  ancestors,  I  have  some  things  against 
the  men  of  this  generation." 

"Have  I  too  sinned  and  come  short?"  he  asked,  with 
mock  gravity. 

"Our  ideals  of  life  are  far  apart,"  she  firmly  declared. 

"What  ails  my  ideal?" 

"Your  egotism,  for  one  thing.  The  air  with  which  you 
calmly  select  what  pleases  your  fancy.  Northern  men 
are  bad  enough — the  insolence  of  a  Southerner  is  beyond 
words!" 


Across  the  Chasm  127 

"You  don't  say  so!"  cried  Ben,  bursting  into  a  hearty 
laugh.  "Isn't  your  aunt,  Mrs.  Farnham,  the  president 
of  a  club?" 

"Yes,  and  she  is  a  very  brilliant  woman." 

"Enlighten  me  further." 

"I  deny  your  heaven-born  male  kingship.  The  lord 
of  creation  is  after  all  a  very  inferior  animal — nearer  the 
brute  creation,  weaker  in  infancy,  shorter  lived,  more 
imperfectly  developed,  given  to  fighting,  and  addicted  to 
idiocy.  I  never  saw  a  female  idiot  in  my  life — did  you?" 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  never  did,"  acknowledged  Ben 
with  comic  gravity.  "What  else?" 

"Isn't  that  enough?" 

"It's  nothing.  I  agree  with  everything  you  say,  but  it 
is  irrelevant.  I'm  studying  law,  you  know." 

"I  have  a  personality  of  my  own.  You  and  your  kind 
assume  the  right  to  absorb  all  lesser  lights." 

"Certainly;  I'm  a  man." 

"  I  don't  care  to  be  absorbed  by  a  mere  man." 

"Don't  wish  to  be  protected,  sheltered,  and  cared  for?" 

"I  dream  of  a  life  that  shall  be  larger  than  the  four 
walls  of  a  home.  I  have  never  gone  into  hysterics  over 
the  idea  of  becoming  a  cook  and  housekeeper  without 
wages,  and  snuffing  my  life  out  while  another  grows,  ex 
pands,  and  claims  the  lordship  of  the  world.  I  can  sing. 
My  voice  is  to  me  what  eloquence  is  to  man.  My  ideal 
is  an  intellectual  companion  who  will  inspire  and  lead  me 
to  develop  all  that  I  feel  within  to  its  highest  reach." 

She  paused  a  moment  and  looked  defiantly  into  Ben's 
brown  eyes,  about  which  a  smile  was  constantly  playing. 


128  The  Clansman 

He  looked  away,  and  again  the  river  echoed  with  his  con 
tagious  laughter.  She  had  to  join  in  spite  of  herself. 
He  laughed  with  boyish  gaiety.  It  danced  in  his  eyes, 
and  gave  spring  to  every  movement  of  his  slender  wiry 
body.  She  felt  its  contagion  infold  her. 

His  laughter  melted  into  a  song.  In  a  voice  vibrant 
with  joy  he  sang,  "If  you  get  there  before  I  do,  tell  'em 
I'm  comin'  too!" 

As  Elsie  listened,  her  anger  grew  as  she  recalled  the 
amazing  folly  that  had  induced  her  to  tell  the  secret 
feelings  of  her  inmost  soul  to  this  man  almost  a 
stranger.  Whence  came  this  miracle  of  influence  about 
him,  this  gift  of  intimacy?  She  felt  a  shock  as  if  she 
had  been  immodest.  She  was  in  an  agony  of  doubt 
as  to  what  he  was  thinking  of  her,  and  dreaded  to  meet 
his  gaze. 

And  yet,  when  he  turned  toward  her,  his  whole  being  a 
smiling  compound  of  dark  Southern  blood  and  bone  and 
fire,  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  all  doubt  and  questioning 
melted. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said  earnestly,  "that  you  are  the 
funniest,  most  charming  girl  I  ever  met?" 

"Thanks.  I've  heard  your  experience  has  been  large 
for  one  of  your  age." 

Ben's  eyes  danced. 

"Perhaps,  yes.  You  appeal  to  things  in  me  that  I 
didn't  know  were  there — to  all  the  senses  of  body  and  soul 
at  once.  Your  strength  of  mind,  with  its  conceits,  and 
your  quick  little  temper  seem  so  odd  and  out  of  place, 
clothed  in  the  gentleness  of  your  beauty." 


Across  the  Chasm  129 

"I  was  never  more  serious  in  my  life.  There  are  other 
things  more  personal  about  you  that  I  do  not  like." 

"What?" 

"Your  cavalier  habits." 

"Cavalier  fiddlesticks.  There  are  no  Cavaliers  hi  my 
country.  We  are  all  Covenanter  and  Huguenot  folks. 
The  idea  that  Southern  boys  are  lazy  loafing  dreamers  is  a 
myth.  I  was  raised  on  the  catechism." 

"You  love  to  fish  and  hunt  and  frolic — you  flirt  with 
every  girl  you  meet,  and  you  drink  sometimes.  I  often 
feel  that  you  are  cruel  and  that  I  do  not  know  you." 

Ben's  face  grew  serious,  and  the  red  scar  in  the  edge  of 
his  hair  suddenly  became  livid  with  the  rush  of  blood. 

"Perhaps  I  don't  mean  that  you  shall  know  all  yet,"  he 
said,  slowly.  "My  ideal  of  a  man  is  one  that  leads, 
charms,  dominates,  and  yet  eludes.  I  confess  that  I'm 
close  kin  to  an  angel  and  a  devil,  and  that  I  await  a 
woman's  hand  to  lead  me  into  the  ways  of  peace  and  life." 

The  spiritual  earnestness  of  the  girl  was  quick  to  catch 
the  subtle  appeal  of  his  last  words.  His  broad,  high 
forehead,  straight,  masterly  nose,  with  its  mobile  nostrils, 
seemed  to  her  very  manly  at  just  that  moment  and  very 
appealing.  A  soft  answer  was  on  her  lips. 

He  saw  it,  and  leaned  toward  her  in  impulsive  tender 
ness.  A  timid  look  on  her  face  caused  him  to  sink  back  in 
silence. 

They  had  now  drifted  near  the  city.  The  sun  was 
slowly  sinking  in  a  smother  of  fiery  splendour  that  mir 
rored  its  changing  hues  in  the  still  water.  The  hush  of 
the  harvest  fullness  of  autumn  life  was  over  all  nature. 


130  The  Clansman 

They  passed  a  camp  of  soldiers  and  then  a  big  hospital 
on  the  banks  above.  A  gun  flashed  from  the  hill,  and  the 
flag  dropped  from  its  staff. 

The  girl's  eyes  lingered  on  the  flower  in  his  coat  a 
moment  and  then  on  the  red  scar  in  the  edge  of  his  dark 
hair,  and  somehow  the  difference  between  them  seemed 
to  melt  into  the  falling  twilight.  Only  his  nearness  was 
real.  Again  a  strange  joy  held  her. 

He  threw  her  a  look  of  tenderness,  and  she  began  to 
tremble.  A  sea-gull  poised  a  moment  above  them  and 
broke  into  a  laugh. 

Bending  nearer,  he  gently  took  her  hand,  and  said: 

"I  love  you!" 

A  sob  caught  her  breath  and  she  buried  her  face  on  her 
arm. 

"I  am  for  you,  and  you  are  for  me.  Why  beat  your 
wings  against  the  thing  that  is  and  must  be?  What  else 
matters  ?  With  all  my  sins  and  faults  my  land  is  yours — 
a  land  of  sunshine,  eternal  harvests,  and  everlasting  song, 
old-fashioned  and  provincial  perhaps,  but  kind  and  hos 
pitable.  Around  its  humblest  cottage  song-birds  live  and 
mate  and  nest  and  never  leave.  The  winged  ones  of  your 
own  cold  fields  have  heard  then*  call,  and  the  sky  to-night 
will  echo  with  their  chatter  as  they  hurry  Southward. 
Elsie,  my  own,  I  too  have  called — come;  I  love  you!" 

She  lifted  her  face  to  him  full  of  tender  spiritual  charm, 
her  eyes  burning  their  passionate  answer. 

He  bent  and  kissed  her. 

"Say  it!     Say  it!"  he  whispered. 

"  I  love  you ! "  she  sighed. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  GAUGE  OF  BATTLE 

THE  day  of  the  first  meeting  of  the  National  Con 
gress  after  the  war  was  one  of  intense  excitement. 
The  galleries  of  the  House  were  packed.     Elsie 
was  there  with  Ben  in  a  fever  of  secret  anxiety  lest  the 
stirring  drama  should  cloud  her  own  life.    She  watched 
her  father  limp  to  his  seat  with  every  eye  fixed  on  him. 

The  President  had  pursued  with  persistence  the  plan  of 
Lincoln  for  the  immediate  restoration  of  the  Union. 
Would  Congress  follow  the  lead  of  the  President  or  chal 
lenge  him  to  mortal  combat  ? 

Civil  governments  had  been  restored  in  all  the  Southern 
states,  with  men  of  the  highest  ability  chosen  as  governors 
and  lawmakers.  Their  legislatures  had  unanimously 
voted  for  the  Thirteenth  Amendment  to  the  Constitution 
abolishing  slavery,  and  elected  Senators  and  Representa 
tives  to  Congress.  Mr.  Seward,  the  Secretary  of  State 
had  declared  the  new  amendment  a  part  of  the  organic 
law  of  the  Nation  by  the  vote  of  these  states. 

General  Grant  went  to  the  South  to  report  its  condition 
and  boldly  declared: 

"I  am  satisfied  that  the  mass  of  thinking  people  of  the 
South  accept  the  situation  in  good  faith.  Slavery  and 
secession  they  regard  as  settled  forever  by  the  highest 

13* 


132  The  Clansman 

known  tribunal,  and  consider  this  decision  a  fortunate  one 
for  the  whole  country." 

Would  the  Southerners  be  allowed  to  enter  ? 

Amid  breathless  silence  the  clerk  rose  to  call  the  roll  of 
members-elect.  Every  ear  was  bent  to  hear  the  name  of 
the  first  Southern  man.  Not  one  was  called !  The  master 
had  spoken.  His  clerk  knew  how  to  play  his  part. 

The  next  business  of  the  House  was  to  receive  the 
message  of  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  the  Nation. 

The  message  came,  but  not  from  the  White  House.  It 
came  from  the  seat  of  the  Great  Commoner. 

As  the  first  thrill  of  excitement  over  the  challenge  to  the 
President  slowly  subsided,  Stoneman  rose,  planted  his  big 
club  foot  in  the  middle  of  the  aisle,  and  delivered  to  Con 
gress  the  word  of  its  new  master. 

It  was  Ben's  first  view  of  the  man  of  all  the  world  just 
now  of  most  interest.  From  his  position  he  could  see  his 
full  face  and  figure. 

He  began  speaking  in  a  careless,  desultory  way.  His 
tone  was  loud  yet  not  declamatory,  at  first  in  a  grumbling, 
grandfatherly,  half- humourous,  querulous  accent  that 
riveted  every  ear  instantly.  A  sort  of  drollery  of  a  con 
tagious  kind  haunted  it.  Here  and  there  a  member  tit 
tered  in  expectation  of  a  flash  of  wit. 

His  figure  was  taller  than  the  average,  slightly  bent  with 
a  dignity  which  suggested  reserve  power  and  contempt 
for  his  audience.  One  knew  instinctively  that  back  of  the 
boldest  word  this  man  might  say  there  was  a  bolder  un 
spoken  word  he  had  chosen  not  to  speak. 

His  limbs  were  long,  and  their  movements  slow,  yet 


The  Gauge  of  Battle  133 

nervous  as  from  some  internal  fiery  force.  His  hands 
were  big  and  ugly,  and  always  in  ungraceful  fumbling 
motion  as  though  a  separate  soul  dwelt  within  them. 

The  heaped-up  curly  profusion  of  his  brown  wig  gave  a 
weird  impression  to  the  spread  of  his  mobile  features. 
His  eagle-beaked  nose  had  three  distinct  lines  and  angles. 
His  chin  was  broad  and  bold,  and  his  brows  beetling  and 
projecting.  His  mouth  was  wide,  marked  and  grim; 
when  opened,  deep  and  cavernous;  when  closed,  it  seemed 
to  snap  so  tightly  that  the  lower  lip  protruded. 

Of  all  his  make-up,  his  eye  was  the  most  fascinating, 
and  it  held  Ben  spellbound.  It  could  thrill  to  the  deepest 
fibre  of  the  soul  that  looked  into  it,  yet  it  did  not  gleam. 
It  could  dominate,  awe,  and  confound,  yet  it  seemed  to 
have  no  colour  or  fire.  He  could  easily  see  it  across  the 
vast  hall  from  the  galleries,  yet  it  was  not  large.  Two 
bold,  colourless  dagger-points  of  light  they  seemed.  As 
he  grew  excited,  they  darkened  as  if  passing  under  a  cloud. 

A  sudden  sweep  of  his  huge  ape-like  arm  in  an  angular 
gesture,  and  the  drollery  and  carelessness  of  his  voice  were 
riven  from  it  as  by  a  bolt  of  lightning. 

He  was  driving  home  his  message  now  in  brutal  frank 
ness.  Yet  in  the  height  of  his  fiercest  invective  he  never 
seemed  to  strengthen  himself  or  call  on  his  resources.  In 
its  climax  he  was  careless,  conscious  of  power,  and  con 
temptuous  of  results,  as  though  as  a  gambler  he  had  staked 
and  lost  all  and  in  the  moment  of  losing  suddenly  become 
the  master  of  those  who  had  beaten  him. 

His  speech  never  once  bent  to  persuade  or  convince. 
He  meant  to  brain  the  opposition  with  a  single  blow,  and 


i34  The  Clansman 

he  did  it.  For  he  suddenly  took  the  breath  from  his  foes 
by  shouting  in  their  faces  the  hidden  motive  of  which  they 
were  hoping  to  accuse  him! 

"Admit  these  Southern  Representatives,"  he  cried,  "and 
with  the  Democrats  elected  from  the  North,  within  one 
term  they  will  have  a  majority  in  Congress  and  the  Elec 
toral  College.  The  supremacy  of  our  party's  life  is  at 
stake.  The  man  who  dares  palter  with  such  a  measure 
is  a  rebel,  a  traitor  to  his  party  and  his  people." 

A  cheer  burst  from  his  henchmen,  and  his  foes  sat  in 
dazed  stupor  at  his  audacity.  He  moved  the  appointment 
of  a  "Committee  on  Reconstruction"  to  whom  the  entire 
government  of  the  "conquered  provinces  of  the  South" 
should  be  committed,  and  to  whom  all  credentials  of  their 
pretended  representatives  should  be  referred. 

He  sat  down  as  the  Speaker  put  his  motion,  declared  it 
carried,  and  quickly  announced  the  names  of  this  Imperial 
Committee  with  the  Hon.  Austin  Stoneman  as  its  chair 
man. 

He  then  permitted  the  message  of  the  President  of  the 
United  States  to  be  read  by  his  clerk. 

"Well,  upon  my  soul,"  said  Ben,  taking  a  deep  breath 
and  looking  at  Elsie,  "he's  the  whole  thing,  isn't  he?" 

The  girl  smiled  with  pride. 

"Yes;  he  is  a  genius.  He  was  born  to  command  and  yet 
never  could  resist  the  cry  of  a  child  or  the  plea  of  a  woman. 
He  hates,  but  he  hates  ideas  and  systems.  He  makes 
threats,  yet  when  he  meets  the  man  who  stands  for  all  he 
hates  he  falls  in  love  with  his  enemy." 

"Then  there's  hope  for  me?" 


The  Gauge  of  Battle  135 

"Yes,  but  I  must  be  the  judge  of  the  time  to  speak." 

"Well,  if  he  looks  at  me  as  he  did  once  to-day,  you  may 
have  to  do  the  speaking  also." 

"You  will  like  him  when  you  know  him.  He  is  one 
of  the  greatest  men  in  America." 

"At  least  he's  the  father  of  the  greatest  girl  in  the  world, 
which  is  far  more  important." 

"I  wonder  if  you  know  how  important?"  she  asked, 
seriously.  "  He  is  the  apple  of  my  eye.  His  bitter  words, 
his  cynicism  and  sarcasm,  are  all  on  the  surface — masks 
that  hide  a  great  sensitive  spirit.  You  can't  know  with 
what  brooding  tenderness  I  have  always  loved  and  wor 
shipped  him.  I  will  never  marry  against  his  wishes." 

"I  hope  he  and  I  will  always  be  good  friends,"  said 
Ben,  doubtfully. 

"You  must,"  she  replied,  eagerly  pressing  his  hand. 


CHAPTER  VII 
A  WOMAN  LAUGHS 

EACH  day  the  conflict  waxed  warmer  between  the 
President  and  the  Commoner. 

The  first  bill  sent  to  the  White  House  to  Afri- 
canise  the  "conquered  provinces"  the  President  vetoed 
in  a  message  of  such  logic,  dignity,  and  power,  the  old 
leader  found  to  his  amazement  it  was  impossible  to  rally 
the  two-thirds  majority  to  pass  it  over  his  head. 

At  first,  all  had  gone  as  planned.  Lynch  and  Howie 
brought  to  him  a  report  on  "Southern  Atrocities,"  se 
cured  through  the  councils  of  the  secret  oath-bound 
Union  League,  which  had  destroyed  the  impression  of 
General  Grant's  words  and  prepared  his  followers  for 
blind  submission  to  his  Committee. 

Yet  the  rally  of  a  group  of  men  in  defence  of  the  Con 
stitution  had  given  the  President  unexpected  strength. 

Stoneman  saw  that  he  must  hold  his  hand  on  the  throat 
of  the  South  and  fight  another  campaign.  Howie  and 
Lynch  furnished  the  publication  committee  of  the  Union 
League  the  matter,  and  they  printed  four  million  five 
hundred  thousand  pamphlets  on  "Southern  Atrocities." 

The  Northern  states  were  hostile  to  Negro  suffrage,  the 
first  step  of  his  revolutionary  programme,  and  not  a  dozen 
men  in  Congress  had  yet  dared  to  favour  it.  Ohio,  Michi- 

136 


A  Woman  Laughs  137 

gan,  New  York,  and  Kansas  had  rejected  it  by  overwhelm 
ing  majorities.  But  he  could  appeal  to  their  passions  and 
prejudices  against  the  "Barbarism"  of  the  South.  It 
would  work  like  magic.  When  he  had  the  South  where 
he  wanted  it,  he  would  turn  and  ram  Negro  suffrage  and 
Negro  equality  down  the  throats  of  the  reluctant  North. 

His  energies  were  now  bent  to  prevent  any  effective 
legislation  in  Congress  until  his  strength  should  be  om 
nipotent. 

A  cloud  disturbed  the  sky  for  a  moment  in  the  Senate. 
John  Sherman,  of  Ohio,  began  to  loom  on  the  horizon  as  a 
constructive  statesman,  and  without  consulting  him  was 
quietly  forcing  over  Sumner's  classic  oratory  a  Reconstruc 
tion  Bill  restoring  the  Southern  states  to  the  Union  on  the 
basis  of  Lincoln's  plan,  with  no  provision  for  interference 
with  the  suffrage.  It  had  gone  to  its  last  reading,  and  the 
final  vote  was  pending. 

The  house  was  in  session  at  3  A.  M.,  waiting  in  feverish 
anxiety  the  outcome  of  this  struggle  in  the  Senate. 

Old  Stoneman  was  in  his  seat,  fast  asleep  from  the 
exhaustion  of  an  unbroken  session  of  forty  hours.  His 
meals  he  had  sent  to  his  desk  from  the  Capitol  restaurant. 
He  was  seventy-four  years  old  and  not  in  good  health, 
yet  his  energy  was  tireless,  his  resources  inexhaustible, 
and  his  audacity  matchless. 

Sunset  Cox,  the  wag  of  the  House,  an  opponent  but 
personal  friend  of  the  old  Commoner,  passing  his  seat  and 
seeing  the  great  head  sunk  on  his  breast  in  sleep,  laughed 
softly  and  said: 

"Mr.  Speaker!" 


138  The  Clansman 

The  presiding  officer  recognised  the  young  Democrat 
with  a  nod  of  answering  humour  and  responded: 

"The  gentleman  from  New  York." 

"I  move  you,  sir,"  said  Cox,  "that,  in  view  of  the  ad 
vanced  age  and  eminent  services  of 'the  distinguished 
gentleman  from  Pennsylvania,  the  Sergeant-at-Arms  be 
instructed  to  furnish  him  with  enough  poker-chips  to  last 
till  morning!"  . 

The  scattered  members  who  were  awake  roared  with 
laughter,  the  Speaker  pounded  furiously  with  his  gavel, 
the  sleepy  little  pages  jumped  up,  rubbing  their  eyes, 
and  ran  here  and  there  answering  imaginary  calls, 
and  the  whole  House  waked  to  its  usual  noise  and 
confusion. 

The  old  man  raised  his  massive  head  and  looked  to  the 
door  leading  toward  the  Senate  just  as  Sumner  rushed 
through.  He  had  slept  for  a  moment,  but  his  keen  in 
tellect  had  taken  up  the  fight  at  precisely  the  point  at  which 
he  left  it. 

Sumner  approached  his  desk  rapidly,  leaned  over,  and 
reported  his  defeat  and  Sherman's  triumph. 

"For  God's  sake  throttle  this  measure  in  the  House  or 
we  are  ruined!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Don't  be  alarmed"  replied  the  cynic.  "I'll  be  here 
with  stronger  weapons  than  articulated  wind." 

"You  have  not  a  moment  to  lose.  The  bill  is  on  its 
way  to  the  Speaker's  desk,  and  Sherman's  men  are  going 
to  force  its  passage  to-night." 

The  Senator  returned  to  the  other  end  of  the  Capitol 
wrapped  in  the  mantle  of  his  outraged  dignity,  and  in 


A  Woman  Laughs  139 

thirty  minutes  the  bill  was  defeated,  and  the  House 
adjourned. 

As  the  old  Commoner  hobbled  through  the  door,  his 
crooked  cane  thumping  the  marble  floor,  Smnner  seized 
and  pressed  his  hand: 

"How  did  you  do  it?" 

Stoneman's  huge  jaws  snapped  together  and  his  lower 
lip  protruded: 

"I  sent  for  Cox  and  summoned  the  leader  of  the 
Democrats.  I  told  them  if  they  would  join  with  me  and 
defeat  this  bill,  I'd  give  them  a  better  one  the  next  session. 
And  I  will — Negro  suffrage!  The  gudgeons  swallowed  it 
whole!" 

Sumner  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  wrapped  his  cloak  a 
little  closer. 

The  great  Commoner  laughed,  as  he  departed: 

"He  is  yet  too  good  for  this  world,  but  he'll  forget  it 
before  we're  done  this  fight." 

On  the  steps  a  beggar  asked  him  for  a  night's  lodging, 
and  he  tossed  him  a  gold  eagle. 

The  North,  which  had  rejected  Negro  suffrage  for  itself 
with  scorn,  answered  Stoneman's  fierce  appeal  to  their 
passions  against  the  South,  and  sent  him  a  delegation  of 
radicals  eager  to  do  his  will. 

So  fierce  had  waxed  the  combat  between  the  President 
and  Congress  that  the  very  existence  of  Stanton's  pris 
oners  languishing  in  jail  was  forgotten,  and  the  Secretary 
of  War  himself  became  a  football  to  be  kicked  back  and 
forth  in  this  conflict  of  giants.  The  fact  that  Andrew 


140  The  Clansman 

Johnson  was  from  Tennessee,  and  had  been  an  old-line 
Democrat  before  his  election  as  a  Unionist  with  Lincoln, 
was  now  a  fatal  weakness  in  his  position.  Under  Stone- 
man's  assaults  he  became  at  once  an  executive  without  a 
party,  and  every  word  of  amnesty  and  pardon  he  pro 
claimed  for  the  South  in  accordance  with  Lincoln's  plan 
was  denounced  as  the  act  of  a  renegade  courting  the  favour 
of  traitors  and  rebels. 

Stanton  remained  in  his  cabinet  against  his  wishes  to 
insult  and  defy  him,  and  Stoneman,  quick  to  see  the  way 
by  which  the  President  of  the  Nation  could  be  degraded 
and  made  ridiculous,  introduced  a  bill  depriving  him  of 
the  power  to  remove  his  own  cabinet  officers.  The  act 
was  not  only  meant  to  degrade  the  President;  it  was  a  trap 
set  for  his  ruin.  The  penalties  were  so  fixed  that  its  vio 
lation  would  give  specific  ground  for  his  trial,  impeach 
ment,  and  removal  from  office. 

Again  Stoneman  passed  his  first  act  to  reduce  the  "con 
quered  provinces"  of  the  South  to  Negro  rule. 

President  Johnson  vetoed  it  with  a  message  of  such 
logic  in  defence  of  the  constitutional  rights  of  the  states 
that  it  failed  by  one  vote  to  find  the  two-thirds  majority 
needed  to  become  a  law  without  his  approval. 

The  old  Commoner's  eyes  froze  into  two  dagger-points 
of  icy  light  when  this  vote  was  announced. 

With  fury  he  cursed  the  President,  but  above  all  he 
cursed  the  men  of  his  own  party  who  had  faltered. 

As  he  fumbled  his  big  hands  nervously,  he  growled: 

"  If  I  only  had  five  men  of  genuine  courage  in  Congress, 
I'd  hang  the  man  at  the  other  end  of  the  Avenue  from  the 


A  "Woman  Laughs  141 

porch  of  the  White  House!  But  I  haven't  got  them — 
cowards,  dastards,  dolts,  and  snivelling  fools " 

His  decision  was  instantly  made.  He  would  expel 
enough  Democrats  from  the  Senate  and  the  House  to 
place  his  two-thirds  majority  beyond  question.  The 
name  of  the  President  never  passed  his  lips.  He  referred 
to  him  always,  even  in  public  debate,  as  "the  man  at  the 
other  end  of  the  Avenue,"  or  "the  former  Governor  of 
Tennessee  who  once  threatened  rebels — the  late  lamented 
Andrew  Johnson,  of  blessed  memory." 

He  ordered  the  expulsion  of  the  new  member  of 
the  House  from  Indiana,  Daniel  W.  Voorhees,  and 
the  new  Senator  from  New  Jersey,  John  P.  Stock 
ton.  This  would  give  him  a  majority  of  two-thirds 
composed  of  men  who  would  obey  his  word  without  a 
question. 

Voorhees  heard  of  the  edict  with  indignant  wrath.  He 
had  met  Stoneman  in  the  lobbies,  where  he  was  often  the 
centre  of  admiring  groups  of  friends.  His  wit  and  au 
dacity,  and,  above  all,  his  brutal  frankness,  had  won  the 
admiration  of  the  "Tall  Sycamore  of  the  Wabash." 
He  could  not  believe  such  a  man  would  be  a  party 
to  a  palpable  fraud.  He  appealed  to  him  per 
sonally  : 

"Look  here,  Stoneman,"  the  young  orator  cried  with 
wrath,  "I  appeal  to  your  sense  of  honour  and  decency. 
My  credentials  have  been  accepted  by  your  own  com 
mittee,  and  my  seat  been  awarded  me.  My  majority  is 
unquestioned.  This  is  a  high-handed  outrage.  You 
cannot  permit  this  crime." 


142  The  Clansman 

The  old  man  thrust  his  deformed  foot  out  before  him, 
struck  it  meditatively  with  his  cane,  and,  looking  Voorhees 
straight  in  the  eye,  boldly  said: 

"There's  nothing  the  matter  with  your  majority,  young 
man.  I've  no  doubt  it's  all  right.  Unfortunately,  you 
are  a  Democrat,  and  happen  to  be  the  odd  man  in  the 
way  of  the  two-thirds  majority  on  which  the  supremacy 
of  my  party  depends.  You  will  have  to  go.  Comeback 
some  other  time."  And  he  did. 

In  the  Senate  there  was  a  hitch.  When  the  vote  was 
taken  on  the  expulsion  of  Stockton,  to  the  amazement  of 
the  leader  it  was  a  tie. 

He  hobbled  into  the  Senate  Chamber,  with  the  steel 
point  of  his  cane  ringing  on  the  marble  flags  as  though 
he  were  thrusting  it  through  the  vitals  of  the  weakling 
who  had  sneaked  and  hedged  and  trimmed  at  the  crucial 
moment. 

He  met  Howie  at  the  door. 

"What's  the  matter  in  there?"  he  asked. 

"They're  trying  to  compromise." 

"Compromise — the  Devil  of  American  politics,"  he 
muttered.  "But  how  did  the  vote  fail — it  was  all  fixed 
before  the  roll-call?" 

"Roman,  of  Maine,  has  trouble  with  his  conscience  I 
He  is  paired  not  to  vote  on  this  question  with  Stockton's 
colleague,  who  is  sick  in  Trenton.  His  'honour'  is  in 
volved,  and  he  refuses  to  break  his  word." 

"I  see,"  said  Stoneman,  pulling  his  bristling  brows 
down  until  his  eyes  were  two  beads  of  white  light  gleam 
ing  through  them.  "Tell  Wade  to  summon  every  mem- 


A  Woman  Laughs  143 

her  of  the  party  in  his  room  immediately  and  hold  the 
Senate  in  session." 

When  the  group  of  Senators  crowded  into  the  Vice- 
president's  room,  the  old  man  faced  them  leaning  on  his 
cane  and  delivered  an  address  of  five  minutes  they  never 
forgot. 

His  speech  had  a  nameless  fascination.  The  man 
himself  with  his  elemental  passions  was  a  wonder.  He 
left  on  public  record  no  speech  worth  reading,  and  yet 
these  powerful  men  shrank  under  his  glance.  As  the 
nostrils  of  his  big  three-angled  nose  dilated,  the  scream 
of  an  eagle  rang  in  his  voice,  his  huge  ugly  hand 
held  the  crook  of  his  cane  with  the  clutch  of  a  tiger, 
his  tongue  flew  with  the  hiss  of  an  adder,  and  his  big 
deformed  foot  seemed  to  grip  the  floor  as  the  claw 
of  a  beast. 

"The  life  of  a  political  party,  gentlemen,"  he  growled 
in  conclusion,  "is  maintained  by  a  scheme  of  subterfuges 
in  which  the  moral  law  cuts  no  figure.  As  your  leader,  I 
know  but  one  law — success.  The  world  is  full  of  fools 
who  must  have  toys  with  which  to  play.  A  belief  in  poli 
tics  is  the  favourite  delusion  of  shallow  American  minds. 
But  you  and  I  have  no  delusions.  Your  life  depends  on 
this  vote.  If  any  man  thinks  the  abstraction  called 
'honour'  is  involved,  let  him  choose  between  his  honour 
and  his  life!  I  call  no  names.  This  issue  must  be  settled 
now  before  the  Senate  adjourns.  There  can  be  no  to 
morrow.  It  is  life  or  death.  Let  the  roll  be  called  again 
immediately." 

The  grave  Senators  resumed  their  seats,  and  Wade,  the 


144  The  Clansman 

acting  Vice-president,  again  put  the  question  of  Stock 
ton's  expulsion. 

The  member  from  New  England  sat  pale  and  trembling, 
in  his  soul  the  anguish  of  the  mortal  combat  between  his 
Puritan  conscience,  the  iron  heritage  of  centuries,  and  the 
order  of  his  captain. 

When  the  clerk  of  the  Senate  called  his  name,  still  the 
battle  raged.  He  sat  in  silence,  the  whiteness  of  death 
about  his  lips,  while  the  clerk  at  a  signal  from  the  Chair 
paused. 

And  then  a  scene  the  like  of  which  was  never 
known  in  American  history!  August  Senators  crowded 
around  his  desk,  begging,  shouting,  imploring,  and 
demanding  that  a  fellow  Senator  break  his  solemn  word 
of  honour! 

For  a  moment  pandemonium  reigned. 

"Vote!    Vote!     Call  his  name  again!"  they  shouted. 

High  above  all  rang  the  voice  of  Charles  Sumner  leading 
the  wild  chorus,  crying: 

"Vote!    Vote!    Vote!" 

The  galleries  hissed  and  cheered — the  cheers  at  last 
drowning  every  hiss. 

Stoneman  pushed  his  way  among  the  mob  which  sur 
rounded  the  badgered  Puritan  as  he  attempted  to  retreat 
into  the  cloak-room. 

"Will  you  vote?"  he  hissed,  his  eyes  flashing  poison. 

"My  conscience  will  not  permit  it,"  he  faltered. 

"To  hell  with  your  conscience!"  the  old  leader  thun 
dered.  "Go  back  to  your  seat,  ask  the  clerk  to  call  your 
name,  and  vote,  or  by  the  living  God  I'll  read  you  out  of 


A  Woman  Laughs  145 

the  party  to-night  and  brand  you  a  snivelling  coward,  a 
copperhead,  a  renegade,  and  traitor!" 

Trembling  from  head  to  foot,  he  staggered  back  to  his 
seat,  the  cold  sweat  standing  in  beads  on  his  forehead,  and 
gasped : 

"Call  my  name!" 

The  shrill  voice  of  the  clerk  rang  out  in  the  stillness  like 
the  peal  of  a  trumpet: 

"Mr.  Roman!" 

And  the  deed  was  done. 

A  cheer  burst  from  his  colleagues,  and  the  roll-call 
proceeded. 

When  Stockton's  name  was  reached,  he  sprang  to  his 
feet,  voted  for  himself,  and  made  a  second  tie! 

With  blank  faces  they  turned  to  the  leader,  who  ordered 
Charles  Sumner  to  move  that  the  Senator  from  New 
Jersey  be  not  allowed  to  answer  his  name  on  an  issue 
involving  his  own  seat. 

It  was  carried.  Again  the  roll  was  called,  and  Stockton 
expelled  by  a  majority  of  one. 

In  the  moment  of  ominous  silence  which  followed,  a 
yellow  woman  of  sleek  animal  beauty  leaned  far  over  the 
gallery  rail  and  laughed  aloud. 

The  passage  of  each  act  of  the  Revolutionary  pro 
gramme  over  the  veto  of  the  President  was  now  but  a  mat 
ter  of  form.  The  act  to  degrade  his  office  by  forcing  him 
to  keep  a  cabinet  officer  who  daily  insulted  him,  the  Civil 
Rights  Bill,  and  the  Freedman's  Bureau  Bill  followed  in 
rapid  succession. 

Stoneman's  crowning  Reconstruction  Act  was  passed, 


146  The  Clansman 

two  years  after  the  war  had  closed,  shattering  the  Union 
again  into  fragments,  blotting  the  names  of  ten  great  South 
ern  states  from  its  roll,  and  dividing  their  territory  into  five 
Military  Districts  under  the  control  of  belted  satraps. 

When  this  measure  was  vetoed  by  the  President,  it  came 
accompanied  by  a  message  whose  words  will  be  forever 
etched  in  fire  on  the  darkest  page  of  the  Nation's  life. 

Amid  hisses,  curses,  jeers,  and  cat-calls,  the  Clerk  of  the 
House  read  its  burning  words : 

"  The  power  thus  given  to  the  commanding  officer  over  the 
people  of  each  district  is  that  of  an  absolute  monarch.  His 
mere  will  is  to  take  the  place  of  law.  He  may  make  a  crim 
inal  code  of  his  own;  he  can  make  it  as  bloody  as  any  recorded 
in  history,  or  he  can  reserve  the  privilege  of  acting  on  the 
impulse  of  his  private  passions  in  each  case  that  arises. 

"Here  is  a  biU  of  attainder  against  nine  millions  of  people 
at  once.  It  is  based  upon  an  accusation  so  vague  as  to  be 
scarcely  intelligible,  and  found  to  be  true  upon  no  credible 
evidence.  Not  one  of  the  nine  millions  was  heard  in  his 
own  defence.  The  representatives  even  of  the  doomed  par 
ties  were  excluded  from  all  participation  in  the  trial.  The 
conviction  is  to  be  followed  by  the  most  ignominious  punish 
ment  ever  inflicted  on  large  masses  of  men.  It  disfranchises 
them  by  hundreds  of  thousands  and  degrades  them  all — 
even  those  who  are  admitted  to  be  guiltless — from  the  rank 
of  freemen  to  the  condition  of  slaves. 

"Such  power  has  not  been  wielded  by  any  monarch  in  Eng 
land  for  more  than  five  hundred  years,  and  in  all  that  time 
no  people  who  speak  the  English  tongue  have  borne  such 
servitude." 


A  Woman  Laughs  147 

When  the  last  jeering  cat-call  which  greeted  this  message 
of  the  Chief  Magistrate  had  died  away  on  the  floor  and 
in  the  galleries,  old  Stoneman  rose,  with  a  smile  playing 
about  his  grim  mouth,  and  introduced  his  bill  to  impeach 
the  President  of  the  United  States  and  remove  him  from 
office. 


CHAPTER  VHI 
A  DREAM 

ELSIE  spent  weeks  of  happiness  In  an  abandonment 
of  joy  to  the  spell  of  her  lover.  His  charm  was 
resistless.  His  gift  of  delicate  intimacy,  the  elo 
quence  with  which  he  expressed  his  love,  and  yet  the 
manly  dignity  with  which  he  did  it,  threw  a  spell  no 
woman  could  resist. 

Each  day's  working  hours  were  given  to  his  father's 
case  and  to  the  study  of  law.  If  there  was  work  to  do,  he 
did  it,  and  then  struck  the  word  care  from  his  life,  giving 
himself  body  and  soul  to  his  love.  Great  events  were 
moving.  The  shock  of  the  battle  between  Congress  and 
the  President  began  to  shake  the  Republic  to  its  founda 
tions.  He  heard  nothing,  felt  nothing,  save  the  music  of 
Elsie's  voice. 

And  she  knew  it.  She  had  only  played  with  lovers 
before.  She  had  never  seen  one  of  Ben's  kind,  and  he 
took  her  by  storm.  His  creed  was  simple.  The  chief 
end  of  life  is  to  glorify  the  girl  you  love.  Other  things 
could  wait.  And  he  let  them  wait.  He  ignored  their 
existence. 

But  one  cloud  cast  its  shadow  over  the  girl's  heart  during 
these  red-letter  days  of  life — the  fear  of  what  her  father 
would  do  to  her  lover's  people.  Ben  had  asked  her  whether 

148 


A  Dream  149 

he  must  speak  to  him.  When  she  said  " No,  not  yet,"  he 
forgot  that  such  a  man  lived.  As  for  his  politics,  he 
knew  nothing  and  cared  less. 

But  the  girl  knew  and  thought  with  sickening  dread, 
until  she  forgot  her  fears  in  the  joy  of  his  laughter.  Ben 
laughed  so  heartily,  so  insinuatingly,  the  contagion  of  his 
fun  could  not  be  resisted. 

He  would  sit  for  hours  and  confess  to  her  the  secrets  of 
his  boyish  dreams  of  glory  in  war,  recount  his  thrilling 
adventures  and  daring  deeds  with  such  enthusiasm  that 
his  cause  seemed  her  own,  and  the  pity  and  the  anguish  of 
the  ruin  of  his  people  hurt  her  with  the  keen  sense  of  per 
sonal  pain.  His  love  for  his  native  state  was  so  genuine,  his 
pride  in  the  bravery  and  goodness  of  its  people  so  chival 
rous,  she  began  to  see  for  the  first  time  how  the  cords 
which  bound  the  Southerner  to  his  soil  were  of  the  heart's 
red  blood. 

She  began  to  understand  why  the  war,  which  had 
seemed  to  her  a  wicked,  cruel,  and  causeless  rebellion,  was 
the  one  inevitable  thing  in  our  growth  from  a  loose  group 
of  sovereign  states  to  a  United  Nation.  Love  had  given 
her  his  point  of  view. 

Secret  grief  over  her  father's  course  began  to  grow  into 
conscious  fear.  With  unerring  instinct  she  felt  the  fatal 
day  drawing  nearer  when  these  two  men,  now  of  her  in 
most  life,  must  clash  in  mortal  enmity. 

She  saw  little  of  her  father.  He  was  absorbed  with 
fevered  activity  and  deadly  hate  in  his  struggle  with  the 
President. 

Brooding  over  her  fears  one  night,  she  had  tried  to 


150  The  Clansman 

interest  Ben  in  politics.  To  her  surprise  she  found  that 
he  knew  nothing  of  her  father's  real  position  or  power  as 
leader  of  his  party.  The  stunning  tragedy  of  the  war  had 
for  the  time  crushed  out  of  his  consciousness  all  political 
ideas,  as  it  had  for  most  young  Southerners.  He  took  her 
hand  while  a  dreamy  look  overspread  his  swarthy  face: 

"Don't  cross  a  bridge  till  you  come  to  it.  I  learned 
that  in  the  war.  Politics  are  a  mess.  Let  me  tell  you 
something  that  counts " 

He  felt  her  hand's  soft  pressure  and  reverently  kissed 
it.  "Listen,"  he  whispered.  "I  was  dreaming  last  night 
after  I  left  you  of  the  home  we'll  build.  Just  back  of  our 
place,  on  the  hill  overlooking  the  river,  my  father  and 
mother  planted  trees  in  exact  duplicate  of  the  ones  they 
placed  around  our  house  when  they  were  married.  They 
set  these  trees  in  honour  of  the  first-born  of  their  love,  that 
he  should  make  his  nest  there  when  grown.  But  it  was 
not  for  him.  He  has  pitched  his  tent  on  higher  ground, 
and  the  others  with  him.  This  place  will  be  mine.  There 
are  forty  varieties  of  trees,  all  grown — elm,  maple,  oak, 
holly,  pine,  cedar,  magnolia,  and  every  fruit  and  flowering 
stem  that  grows  in  our  friendly  soil.  A  little  house,  built 
near  the  vacant  space  reserved  for  the  homestead,  is 
nicely  kept  by  a  farmer,  and  birds  have  learned  to  build 
in  every  shrub  and  tree.  All  the  year  their  music  rings 
its  chorus — one  long  overture  awaiting  the  coming  of  my 
bride " 

Elsie  sighed. 

"Listen,  dear,"  he  went  on,  eagerly.  "Last  night  I 
dreamed  the  South  had  risen  from  her  ruins.  I  saw  you 


A  Dream  151 

there.  I  saw  our  home  standing  amid  a  bower  of  roses 
your  hands  had  planted.  The  full  moon  wrapped  it  in 
soft  light,  while  you  and  I  walked  hand  in  hand  in  silence 
beneath  our  trees.  But  fairer  and  brighter  than  the  moon 
was  the  face  of  her  I  loved,  and  sweeter  than  all  the  songs 
of  birds  the  music  of  her  voice!" 

A  tear  dimmed  the  girl's  warm  eyes,  and  a  deeper  flush 
mantled  her  cheeks,  as  she  lifted  her  face  and  whispered: 

"Kiss  me." 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  KING  AMUSES  HIMSELF 

WITH  savage  energy  the  Great  Commoner  pressed 
to  trial  the  first  impeachment  of  a  President 
of    the  United    States   for  high  crimes  and 
misdemeanours. 

His  bill  to  confiscate  the  property  of  the  Southern 
people  was  already  pending  on  the  calendar  of  the  House. 
This  bill  was  the  most  remarkable  ever  written  in  the 
English  language  or  introduced  into  a  legislative  body  of 
the  Aryan  race.  It  provided  for  the  confiscation  of  ninety 
per  cent,  of  the  land  of  ten  great  states  of  the  American 
Union.  To  each  negro  in  the  South  was  allotted  forty 
acres  from  the  estate  of  his  former  master,  and  the 
remaining  millions  of  acres  were  to  be  divided 
among  the  "loyal  who  had  suffered  by  reason  of  the 
Rebellion." 

The  execution  of  this,  the  most  stupendous  crime 
ever  conceived  by  an  English  law-maker,  involving  the 
exile  and  ruin  of  millions  of  innocent  men,  women,  and 
children,  could  not  be  intrusted  to  Andrew  Johnson. 

No  such  measure  could  be  enforced  so  long  as  any  man 
was  President  and  Commander-in-chief  of  the  Army  and 
Navy  who  claimed  his  title  under  the  Constitution.  Hence 
the  absolute  necessity  of  his  removal. 

152 


The  King  Amuses  Himself  153 

The  conditions  of  society  were  ripe  for  this  daring 
enterprise. 

Not  only  was  the  Ship  of  State  in  the  hands  of  revolu 
tionists  who  had  boarded  her  in  the  storm  stress  of  a 
civic  convulsion,  but  among  them  swarmed  the  pirate 
captains  of  the  boldest  criminals  who  ever  figured  in  the 
story  of  a  nation. 

The  first  great  Railroad  Lobby,  with  continental  em 
pires  at  stake,  thronged  the  Capitol  with  its  lawyers, 
agents,  barkers,  and  hired  courtesans.  j 

The  Cotton  Thieves,  who  operated  through  a  ring  of 
Treasury  agents,  had  confiscated  unlawfully  three  mil 
lion  bales  of  cotton  hidden  in  the  South  during  the  war 
and  at  its  close,  the  last  resource  of  a  ruined  people.  The 
Treasury  had  received  a  paltry  twenty  thousand  bales 
for  the  use  of  its  name  with  which  to  seize  alleged  "prop 
erty  of  the  Confederate  Government."  The  value  of. 
this  cotton,  stolen  from  the  widows  and  orphans,  the 
maimed  and  crippled,  of  the  South  was  over  $700,000,000 
in  gold — a  capital  sufficient  to  have  started  an  impov 
erished  people  again  on  the  road  to  prosperity.  The 
agents  of  this  ring  surrounded  the  halls  of  legislation, 
guarding  their  booty  from  envious  eyes,  and  demanding 
the  enactment  of  vaster  schemes  of  legal  confiscation. 

The  Whiskey  Ring  had  just  been  formed,  and  began  its 
system  of  gigantic  frauds  by  which  it  scuttled  the  Treasury. 

Above  them  all  towered  the  figure  of  Oakes  Ames,  whose 
master  mind  had  organised  the  Credit  Mobilier  steal. 
This  vast  infamy  had  already  eaten  its  way  into  the  heart 
of  Congress  and  dug  the  graves  of  many  illustrious  men. 


154  The  Clansman 

So  open  had  become  the  shame  that  Stoneman  was  com 
pelled  to  increase  his  committees  in  the  morning,  when  a 
corrupt  majority  had  been  bought  the  night  before. 

He  arose  one  day,  and,  looking  at  the  distinguished 
Speaker,  who  was  himself  the  secret  associate  of  Oakes 
Ames,  said: 

"Mr.  Speaker:  While  the  House  slept,  the  enemy  has 
sown  tares  among  our  wheat.  The  corporations  of  this 
country,  having  neither  bodies  to  be  kicked  nor  souls  to 
be  lost,  have,  perhaps  by  the  power  of  argument  alone, 
beguiled  from  the  majority  of  my  Committee  the  member 
from  Connecticut.  The  enemy  have  now  a  majority  of 
one.  I  move  to  increase  the  Committee  to  twelve." 

Speaker  Colfax,  soon  to  be  hurled  from  the  Vice-presi 
dent's  chair  for  his  part  with  those  thieves,  increased  his 
Committee. 

Everybody  knew  that  "the  power  of  argument  alone" 
meant  ten  thousand  dollars  cash  for  the  gentleman  from 
Connecticut,  who  did  not  appear  on  the  floor  for  a  week, 
fearing  the  scorpion  tongue  of  the  old  Commoner. 

A  Congress  which  found  it  could  make  and  unmake 
laws  in  defiance  of  the  Executive  went  mad.  Taxation 
soared  to  undreamed  heights,  while  the  currency  was  de 
preciated  and  subject  to  the  wildest  fluctuations. 

The  statute-books  were  loaded  with  laws  that  shackled 
chains  of  monopoly  on  generations  yet  unborn.  Public 
lands  wide  as  the  reach  of  empires  were  voted  as  gifts  to 
private  corporations,  and  subsidies  of  untold  millions 
fixed  as  a  charge  upon  the  people  and  then*  children's 
children. 


The  King  Amuses  Himself  155 

The  demoralisation  incident  to  a  great  war,  the  waste 
of  unheard-of  sums  of  money,  the  giving  of  contracts  in 
volving  millions  by  which  fortunes  were  made  in  a  night, 
the  riot  of  speculation  and  debauchery  by  those  who  tried 
to  get  rich  suddenly  without  labour,  had  created  a  new 
Capital  of  the  Nation.  The  vulture  army  of  the  base, 
venal,  unpatriotic,  and  corrupt,  which  had  swept  down,  a 
black  cloud,  in  war-time  to  take  advantage  of  the  mis 
fortunes  of  the  Nation,  had  settled  in  Washington  and 
gave  new  tone  to  its  life. 

Prior  to  the  Civil  War  the  Capital  was  ruled,  and  the 
standards  of  its  social  and  political  life  fixed,  by  an  aris 
tocracy  founded  on  brains,  culture,  and  blood.  Power 
was  with  few  exceptions  intrusted  to  an  honourable 
body  of  high-spirited  public  officials.  Now  a  Negro 
electorate  controlled  the  city  government,  and  gangs 
of  drunken  negroes,  its  sovereign  citizens,  paraded  the 
streets  at  night  firing  their  muskets  unchallenged  and 
unmolested. 

A  new  mob  of  onion-laden  breath,  mixed  with  per 
spiring  African  odour,  became  the  symbol  of  American 
Democracy. 

A  new  order  of  society  sprouted  in  this  corruption. 
The  old  high-bred  ways,  tastes,  and  enthusiasms  were 
driven  into  the  hiding-places  of  a  few  families  and  cher 
ished  as  relics  of  the  past. 

Washington,  choked  with  scrofulous  wealth,  bowed  the 
knee  to  the  Almighty  Dollar.  The  new  altar  was  covered 
with  a  black  mould  of  human  blood — but  no  questions 
were  asked. 


156  The  Clansman 

A  mulatto  woman  kept  the  house  of  the  foremost  man 
of  the  Nation  and  received  his  guests  with  condescension. 

In  this  atmosphere  of  festering  vice  and  gangrene  pas 
sions,  the  struggle  between  the  Great  Commoner  and  the 
President  on  which  hung  the  fate  of  the  South  approached 
its  climax. 

The  whole  Nation  was  swept  into  the  whirlpool,  and 
business  was  paralysed.  Two  years  after  the  close  of  a 
victorious  war,  the  credit  of  the  Republic  dropped  until 
its  six  per  cent,  bonds  sold  in  the  open  market  for  seventy- 
three  cents  on  the  dollar. 

The  revolutionary  junta  in  control  of  the  Capital  was 
within  a  single  step  of  the  subversion  of  the  Government 
and  the  establishment  of  a  Dictator  in  the  White  House. 

A  convention  was  called  in  Philadelphia  to  restore 
fraternal  feeling,  heal  the  wounds  of  war,  preserve  the 
Constitution,  and  restore  the  Union  of  the  fathers.  It  was 
a  grand  assemblage  representing  the  heart  and  brain 
of  the  Nation.  Members  of  Lincoln's  first  Cabinet, 
protesting  Senators  and  Congressmen,  editors  of  great 
Republican  and  Democratic  newspapers,  heroes  of  both 
armies,  long  estranged,  met  for  a  common  purpose.  When 
a  group  of  famous  Negro  worshippers  from  Boston  sud 
denly  entered  the  hall,  arm  in  arm  with  ex-slaveholders 
from  South  Carolina,  the  great  meeting  rose  and  walls  and 
roof  rang  with  thunder  peals  of  applause. 

Their  committee,  headed  by  a  famous  editor,  journeyed 
to  Washington  to  appeal  to  the  Master  at  the  Capitol. 
They  sought  him  not  in  the  White  House,  but  in  the  little 
Black  House  in  an  obscure  street  on  the  hill. 


The  King  Amuses  Himself  157 

'ihe  brown  woman  received  them  with  haughty  dig 
nity,  and  said: 

"Mr.  Stoneman  can  not  be  seen  at  this  hour.  It  is 
after  nine  o'clock.  I  will  submit  to  him  your  request  for 
an  audience  to-morrow  morning." 

"We  must  see  him  to-night,"  replied  the  editor,  with 
rising  anger. 

"The  king  is  amusing  himself,"  said  the  yellow  woman, 
with  a  touch  of  malice. 

"Where  is  he?" 

Her  cat-like  eyes  rolled  from  side  to  side,  and  a  smile 
played  about  her  full  lips  as  she  said: 

"You  will  find  him  at  Hall  &  Pemberton's  gambling 
hell — you've  lived  in  Washington.  You  know  the  way." 

With  a  muttered  oath  the  editor  turned  on  his  heel  and 
led  his  two  companions  to  the  old  Commoner's  favourite 
haunt.  There  could  be  no  better  time  or  place  to  ap 
proach  him  than  seated  at  one  of  its  tables  laden  with 
rare  wines  and  savoury  dishes. 

On  reaching  the  well-known  number  of  Hall  &  Pem 
berton's  place,  the  editor  entered  the  unlocked  door, 
passed  with  his  friends  along  the  soft-carpeted  hall,  and 
ascended  the  stairs.  Here  the  door  was  locked.  A  sud 
den  pull  of  the  bell,  and  a  pair  of  bright  eyes  peeped 
through  a  small  grating  in  the  centre  of  the  door  revealed 
by  the  sliding  of  its  panel. 

The  keen  eyes  glanced  at  the  proffered  card,  the  door 
flew  open,  and  a  well-dressed  mulatto  invited  them  with 
cordial  welcome  to  enter. 

Passing  along  another  hall,  they  were  ushered  into  a 


158  The  Clansman 

palatial  suite  of  rooms  furnished  in  princely  state.  The 
floors  were  covered  with  the  richest  and  softest  carpets — 
so  soft  and  yielding  that  the  tramp  of  a  thousand  feet 
could  not  make  the  faintest  echo.  The  walls  and  ceilings 
were  frescoed  by  the  brush  of  a  great  master,  and  hung 
with  works  of  art  worth  a  king's  ransom.  Heavy  cur 
tains,  in  colours  of  exquisite  taste,  masked  each  window, 
excluding  all  sound  from  within  or  without. 

The  rooms  blazed  with  light  from  gorgeous  chandeliers 
of  trembling  crystals,  shimmering  and  flashing  from  the 
ceilings  like  bouquets  of  diamonds. 

Negro  servants,  faultlessly  dressed,  attended  the  slight 
est  want  of  every  guest  with  the  quiet  grace  and  courtesy 
of  the  lost  splendours  of  the  old  South. 

The  proprietor,  with  courtly  manners,  extended  his 
hand: 

"Welcome,  gentlemen;  you  are  my  guests.  The  tables 
and  the  wines  are  at  your  service  without  price.  Eat, 
drink,  and  be  merry — play  or  not,  as  you  please." 

A  smile  lighted  his  dark  eyes,  but  faded  out  near  his 
mouth,  cold  and  rigid. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  last  room  hung  the  huge  paint 
ing  of  a  leopard,  so  vivid  and  real  its  black  and  tawny 
colours,  so  furtive  and  wild  its  restless  eyes,  it  seemed 
alive  and  moving  behind  invisible  bars. 

Just  under  it,  gorgeously  set  in  its  jewel-studded  frame, 
stood  the  magic  green  table  on  which  men  staked  their 
gold  and  lost  their  souls. 

The  rooms  were  crowded  with  Congressmen,  govern 
ment  officials,  officers  of  the  Army  and  Navy,  clerks, 


The  King  Amuses  Himself  159 

contractors,  paymasters,  lobbyists,  and  professional  gam 
blers. 

The  centre  of  an  admiring  group  was  a  Congressman 
who  had  during  the  last  session  of  the  House  broken  the 
"bank"  in  a  single  night,  winning  more  than  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  He  had  lost  it  all  and  more  in  two 
weeks,  and  the  courteous  proprietor  now  held  orders  for 
the  lion's  share  of  the  total  pay  and  mileage  of  nearly  every 
member  of  the  House  of  Representatives. 

Over  that  table  thousands  of  dollars  of  the  people's 
money  had  been  staked  and  lost  during  the  war,  by  quarter 
masters,  paymasters,  and  agents  in  charge  of  public  funds. 
Many  a  man  had  approached  that  green  table  with  a 
stainless  name  and  left  it  a  perjured  thief.  Some  had 
been  carried  out  by  those  handsomely  dressed  waiters,  and 
the  man  with  the  cold  mouth  could  point  out,  if  he  would, 
more  than  one  stain  on  the  soft  carpet  which  marked  the 
end  of  a  tragedy  deeper  than  the  pen  of  romancer  has 
ever  sounded. 

Stoneman  at  the  moment  was  playing.  He  was  rarely 
a  heavy  player,  but  he  had  just  staked  a  twenty-dollar 
gold-piece  and  won  fourteen  hundred  dollars. 

Howie,  always  at  his  elbow,  ready  for  a  "sleeper"  or 
a  stake,  said:  »  ' 

"Put  a  stack  on  the  ace." 

He  did  so,  lost,  and  repeated  it  twice. 

"Do  it  again,"  urged  Howie.  "I'll  stake  my  reputa 
tion  that  the  ace  wins  this  time." 

With  a  doubting  glance  at  Howie,  old  Stoneman  shoved 
a  stack  of  blue  chips,  worth  fifty  dollars,  over  the  ace, 


160  The  Clansman 

playing  it  to  win  on  Howie's  judgment  and  reputation. 
It  lost. 

Without  the  ghost  of  a  smile,  the  old  statesman  said: 

"Howie,  you  owe  me  five  cents." 

T  As  he  turned  abruptly  on  his  club-foot  from  the  table, 
he  encountered  the  editor  and  his  friends,  a  Western 
manufacturer  and  a  Wall  Street  banker.  They  were  soon 
seated  at  a  table  in  a  private  room,  over  a  dinner  of  choice 
oysters,  diamond-back  terrapin,  canvas-back  duck,  and 
champagne. 

They  presented  their  plea  for  a  truce  in  his  fight  until 
popular  passion  had  subsided. 

He  heard  them  in  silence.  His  answer  was  char 
acteristic: 

"The  will  of  the  people,  gentlemen,  is  supreme,"  he 
said,  with  a  sneer.  "We  are  the  people.  'The  man  at 
the  other  end  of  the  Avenue'  has  dared  to  defy  the  will 
of  Congress.  He  must  go.  If  the  Supreme  Court  lifts 
a  finger  in  this  fight,  we  will  reduce  that  tribunal  to  one 
man  or  increase  it  to  twenty  at  our  pleasure." 

"But  the  Constitution "  broke  in  the  chairman. 

"There  are  higher  laws  than  paper  compacts.  We 
are  conquerors  treading  conquered  soil.  Our  will  alone 
is  the  source  of  law.  The  drunken  boor  who  claims  to 
be  President  is  in  reality  an  alien  of  a  conquered  province." 

"We  protest,"  exclaimed  the  man  of  money,  "against 
the  use  of  such  epithets  in  referring  to  the  Chief  Magis 
trate  of  the  Republic!" 

"And  why,  pray?"  sneered  the  Commoner. 

"  In  the  name  of  common  decency,  law,  and  order.   The 


The  King  Amuses  Himself 


161 


President  is  a  man  of  inherent  power,  even  if  he  did  learn 
to  read  after  his  marriage.  Like  many  other  Americans, 
he  is  a  self-made  man " 

"Glad  to  hear  it,"  snapped  Stoneman.  "It  relieves 
Almighty  God  of  a  fearful  responsibility." 

They  left  him  in  disgust  and  dismay. 


CHAPTER  X 
TOSSED  BY  THE  STORM 

A)  the  storm  of  passion  raised  by  the  clash  between 
her  father  and  the  President  rose  steadily  to  the 
sweep  of  a  cyclone,  Elsie  felt  her  own  life  but  a 
leaf  driven  before  its  fury. 

Her  only  comfort  she  found  in  Phil,  whose  letters  to  her 
were  full  of  love  for  Margaret.  He  asked  Elsie  a  thou 
sand  foolish  questions  about  what  she  thought  of  his 
chances. 

To  her  own  confessions  he  was  all  sympathy. 

"Of  father's  wild  scheme  of  vengeance  against  the 
South,"  he  wrote,  "I  am  heart-sick.  I  hate  it  on  principle, 
to  say  nothing  of  a  girl  I  know.  I  am  with  General  Grant 
for  peace  and  reconciliation.  What  does  your  lover  think 
of  it  all?  I  can  feel  your  anguish.  The  bill  to  rob  the 
Southern  people  of  their  land,  which  I  hear  is  pending, 
would  send  your  sweetheart  and  mine,  our  enemies,  into 
beggared  exile.  What  will  happen  in  the  South?  Riot 
and  bloodshed,  of  course — perhaps  a  guerilla  war  of  such 
fierce  and  terrible  cruelty  humanity  sickens  at  the  thought. 
I  fear  the  Rebellion  unhinged  our  father's  reason  on 
some  things.  He  was  too  old  to  go  to  the  front.  The 
cannon's  breath  would  have  cleared  the  air  and  sweet 
ened  his  temper.  But  its  healing  was  denied.  I  believe 

162 


Tossed  by  the  Storm  163 

the  tawny  leopardess  who  keeps  his  house  influences  him 
in  this  cruel  madness.  I  could  wring  her  neck  with  ex 
quisite  pleasure.  Why  he  allows  her  to  stay  and  cloud 
his  life  with  her  she-devil  temper  and  fog  his  name  with 
vulgar  gossip  is  beyond  me." 

Seated  in  the  park  on  the  Capitol  hill  the  day  after  her 
father  had  introduced  his  Confiscation  Bill  in  the  House* 
pending  the  impeachment  of  the  President,  she  again  at 
tempted  to  draw  Ben  out  as  to  his  feelings  on  politics. 

She  waited  in  sickening  fear  and  bristling  pride  for  the 
first  burst  of  his  anger  which  would  mean  their  separation. 

"How  do  I  feel?"  he  asked.  "Don't  feel  at  all.  The 
surrender  of  General  Lee  was  an  event  so  stunning,  my 
mind  has  not  yet  staggered  past  it.  Nothing  much  can 
happen  after  that,  so  it  don't  matter." 

"Negro  suffrage  don't  matter?" 

"No.    We  can  manage  the  Negro,"  he  said,  calmly. 

"With  thousands  of  your  own  people  disfranchised?" 

"  The  negroes  will  vote  with  us,  as  they  worked  for  us 
during  the  war.  If  they  give  them  the  ballot,  they'll  wish 
they  hadn't." 

Ben  looked  at  her  tenderly,  bent  near,  and  whispered: 

"Don't  waste  your  sweet  breath  talking  about  such 
things.  My  politics  is  bounded  on  the  North  by  a  pair 
of  amber  eyes,  on  the  South  by  a  dimpled  little  chin,  on 
the  East  and  West  by  a  rosy  cheek.  Words  do  not  frame 
its  speech.  Its  language  is  a  mere  sign,  a  pressure  of  the 
lips — yet  it  thrills  body  and  soul  beyond  all  words." 

Elsie  leaned  closer,  and  looking  at  the  Capitol,  said 
wistfully: 


164 


The  Clansman 


"  I  don't  believe  you  know  anything  that  goes  on  in  that 
big  marble  building." 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"What  happened  there  yesterday?" 

"You  honoured  it  by  putting  your  beautiful  feet  on  its 
steps.  I  saw  the  whole  huge  pile  of  cold  marble  suddenly 
glow  with  warm  sunlight  and  flash  with  beauty  as  you 
entered  it." 

The  girl  nestled  still  closer  to  his  side,  feeling  her  utter 
helplessness  in  the  rapids  of  the  Niagara  through  which 
they  were  being  whirled  by  blind  and  merciless  forces- 
For  the  moment  she  forgot  all  fears  in  his  nearness  and  the 
sweet  pressure  of  his  hand. 


THE  SUPREME  TEST 

IT  is  the  glory  of  the  American  Republic  that  every 
man  who  has  filled  the  office  of  President  has  grown 
in   stature  when   clothed  with   its   power  and   has 
proved  himself  worthy  of  its  solemn  trust.     It  is  our  highest 
claim  to  the  respect  of  the  world  and  the  vindication  of 
man's  capacity  to  govern  himself. 

The  impeachment  of  President  Andrew  Johnson  would 
mark  either  the  lowest  tide-mud  of  degradation  to  which 
the  Republic  could  sink,  or  its  end.  In  this  trial  our  sys 
tem  would  be  put  to  its  severest  strain.  If  a  partisan 
majority  in  Congress  could  remove  the  Executive,  and 
defy  the  Supreme  Court,  stability  to  civic  institutions  was 
at  an  end,  and  the  breath  of  a  mob  would  become  the  sole 
standard  of  law. 

Congress  had  thrown  to  the  winds  the  last  shreds  of 
decency  in  its  treatment  of  the  Chief  Magistrate.  Stone- 
man  led  this  campaign  of  insult,  not  merely  from  feelings 
of  personal  hate,  but  because  he  saw  that  thus  the  Presi 
dent's  conviction  before  the  Senate  would  become  all  but 
inevitable. 

When  his  messages  arrived  from  the  White  House 
they  were  thrown  into  the  waste-basket  without  being 
read,  amid  jeers,  hisses,  curses,  and  ribald  laughter. 

165 


166  The  Clansman 

In  lieu  of  their  reading,  Stoneman  would  send  to  the 
Clerk's  desk  an  obscene  tirade  from  a  party  newspaper, 
and  the  Clerk  of  the  House  would  read  it  amid  the 
mocking  groans,  laughter,  and  applause  of  the  floor  and 
galleries. 

A  favourite  clipping  described  the  President  as  "an  inso 
lent  drunken  brute,  in  comparison  with  whom  Caligula's 
horse  was  respectable." 

In  the  Senate,  whose  members  were  to  sit  as  sworn 
judges  to  decide  the  question  of  impeachment,  Charles 
Sumner  used  language  so  vulgar  that  he  was  called  to 
order.  Sustained  by  the  Chair  and  the  Senate,  he  re 
peated  it  with  increased  violence,  concluding  with  cold 
venom : 

"Andrew  Johnson  has  become  the  successor  of  Jef 
ferson  Davis.  In  holding  him  up  to  judgment  I  do  not 
dwell  on  his  beastly  intoxication  the  day  he  took  the  oath  as 
Vice-president,  nor  do  I  dwell  on  his  maudlin  speeches 
by  which  he  has  degraded  the  country,  nor  hearken  to  the 
reports  of  pardons  sold,  or  of  personal  corruption. 
These  things  are  bad.  But  he  has  usurped  the  powers 
of  Congress." 

Conover,  the  perjured  wretch,  in  prison  for  his  crimes 
as  a  professional  witness  in  the  assassination  trial,  now 
circulated  the  rumour  that  he  could  give  evidence  that 
President  Johnson  was  the  assassin  of  Lincoln.  Without 
a  moment's  hesitation,  Stoneman's  henchmen  sent  a  peti 
tion  to  the  President  for  the  pardon  of  this  villain  that 
he  might  turn  against  the  man  who  had  pardoned  him 
and  swear  his  life  away!  This  scoundrel  was  borne  in 


The  Supreme  Test  167 

triumph  from  prison  to  the  Capitol  and  placed  before  the 
Impeachment  Committee,  to  whom  he  poured  out  his 
wondrous  tale. 

The  sewers  and  prisons  were  dragged  for  every  scrap 
of  testimony  to  be  found,  and  the  day  for  the  trial  ap 
proached. 

As  it  drew  nearer,  excitement  grew  intense.  Swarms  of 
adventurers  expecting  the  overthrow  of  the  Government 
crowded  into  Washington.  Dreams  of  honours,  profits, 
and  division  of  spoils  held  riot.  Gamblers  thronged  the 
saloons  and  gaming-houses,  betting  then*  gold  on  the 
President's  head. 

Stoneman  found  the  business  more  serious  than  even 
his  daring  spirit  had  dreamed.  His  health  suddenly  gave 
way  under  the  strain,  and  he  was  put  to  bed  by  his  physi 
cian  with  the  warning  that  the  least  excitement  Would  be 
instantly  fatal. 

Elsie  entered  the  little  Black  House  on  the  hill  for  the 
first  time  since  her  trip  at  the  age  of  twelve,  some  eight  years 
before.  She  installed  an  army  nurse,  took  charge  of  the 
place,  and  ignored  the  existence  of  the  brown  woman,  re 
fusing  to  speak  to  her  or  permit  her  to  enter  her  father's 
room. 

His  illness  made  it  necessary  to  choose  an  assistant  to 
conduct  the  case  before  the  High  Court.  There  was  but 
one  member  of  the  House  whose  character  and  ability 
fitted  him  for  the  place — General  Benj.  F.  Butler,  of 
Massachusetts,  whose  name  was  enough  to  start  a  riot  in 
any  assembly  in  America. 

His  selection  precipitated  a  storm  at  the  Capitol.     A 


The  Clansman 


member  leaped  to  his  feet  on  the  floor  of  the  House  and 
shouted : 

"If  I  were  to  characterise  all  that  is  pusillanimous  in 
war,  inhuman  in  peace,  forbidden  in  morals,  and  corrupt 
in  politics,  I  could  name  it  in  one  word — Butlerism!" 

For  this  speech  he  was  ordered  to  apologise,  and  when 
he  refused  with  scorn  they  voted  that  the  Speaker  publicly 
censure  him.  The  Speaker  did  so,  but  winked  at  the 
offender  while  uttering  the  censure. 

John  A.  Bingham,  of  Ohio,  who  had  been  chosen  for 
his  powers  of  oratory  to  make  the  principal  speech  against 
the  President,  rose  in  the  House  and  indignantly  refused 
to  serve  on  the  Board  of  .Impeachment  with  such  a  man. 

General  Butler  replied  with  crushing  insolence: 

"  It  is  true,  Mr.  Speaker,  that  I  may  have  made  an  error 
of  judgment  in  trying  to  blow  up  Fort  Fisher  with  a  powder- 
ship  at  sea.  I  did  the  best  I  could  with  the  talents  God 
gave  me.  An  angel  could  have  done  no  more.  At  least 
I  bared  my  own  breast  in  my  country's  defence — a  thing 
the  distinguished  gentleman  who  insults  me  has  not  ven 
tured  to  do — his  only  claim  to  greatness  being  that, 
behind  prison  walls,  on  perjured  testimony,  his  fervid 
eloquence  sent  an  innocent  American  mother  screaming 
to  the  gallows." 

The  fight  was  ended  only  by  an  order  from  the  old 
Commoner's  bed  to  Bingham  to  shut  his  mouth  and  work 
with  Butler.  When  the  President  had  been  crushed, 
then  they  could  settle  Kilkenny-cat  issues.  Bingham 
obeyed. 

When   the   august   tribunal   assembled   in   the   Senate 


The  Supreme  Test  x6gr 

Chamber,  fifty-five  Senators,  presided  over  by  Salmon  P. 
Chase,  Chief  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court,  constituted  the 
tribunal.  They  took  their  seats  in  a  semicircle  in  front  of 
the  Vice-president's  desk  at  which  the  Chief  Justice  sat. 
Behind  them  crowded  the  one  hundred  and  ninety  members 
of  the  House  of  Representatives,  the  accusers  of  the  ruler 
of  the  mightiest  Republic  in  human  history.  Every  inch  of 
space  in  the  galleries  was  crowded  with  brilliantly  dressed 
men  and  women,  army  officers  in  gorgeous  uniforms,  and 
the  pomp  and  splendour  of  the  ministers  of  every  foreign 
court  of  the  world.  In  spectacular  grandeur  no  such  scene 
was  ever  before  witnessed  in  the  annals  of  justice. 

The  peculiar  personal  appearance  of  General  Butler, 
whose  bald  head  shone  with  insolence  while  his  eye 
seemed  to  be  winking  over  his  record  as  a  warrior  and 
making  fun  of  his  fellow-manager  Bingham,  added  a 
touch  of  humour  to  the  solemn  scene. 

The  magnificent  head  of  the  Chief  Justice  suggested 
strange  thoughts  to  the  beholder.  He  had  been  sum 
moned  but  the  day  before  to  try  Jefferson  Davis  for  the 
treason  of  declaring  the  Southern  States  out  of  the  Union. 
To-day  he  sat  down  to  try  the  President  of  the  United 
States  for  declaring  them  to  be  in  the  Union!  He  had 
protested  with  warmth  that  he  could  not  conduct  both 
these  trials  at  once. 

The  Chief  Justice  took  oath  to  "do  impartial  justice 
according  to  the  Constitution  and  the  laws,"  and  to  the 
chagrin  of  Sumner  administered  this  oath  to  each  Senator 
in  turn.  When  Benjamin  F.  Wade's  name  was  called, 
Hendricks,  of  Indiana,  objected  to  his  sitting  as  judge. 


I70 


The  Clansman 


He  could  succeed  temporarily  to  the  Presidency,  as  the 
presiding  officer  of  the  Senate,  and  his  own  vote  might 
decide  the  fate  of  the  accused  and  determine  his  own 
succession.  The  law  forbids  the  Vice-president  to  sit  on 
such  trials.  It  should  apply  with  more  vigour  in  his  case. 
Besides,  he  had  without  a  hearing  already  pronounced 
the  President  guilty. 

Stunner,  forgetting  his  motion  to  prevent  Stockton's 
voting  against  his  own  expulsion,  flew  to  the  defence  of 
Wade.  Hendricks  smilingly  withdrew  his  objection,  and 
"Bluff  Ben  Wade"  took  the  oath  and  sat  down  to  judge 
his  own  cause  with  unruffled  front. 

When  the  case  was  complete,  the  whole  bill  of  indictment 
stood  forth  a  tissue  of  stupid  malignity  without  a  shred  of 
evidence  to  support  its  charges. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  trial,  when  the  closing  speeches 
were  being  made,  there  was  a  stir  at  the  door.  The 
throng  of  men,  packing  every  inch  of  floor  space,  were 
pushed  rudely  aside.  The  crowd  craned  their  necks, 
Senators  turned  and  looked  behind  them  to  see  what 
the  disturbance  meant,  and  the  Chief  Justice  rapped 
for  order. 

Suddenly  through  the  dense  mass  appeared  the  forms 
of  two  gigantic  negroes  carrying  an  old  man.  His  grim 
face,  white  and  rigid,  and  his  big  club  foot  hanging 
pathetically  from  those  black  arms,  could  not  be  mistaken. 
A  thrill  of  excitement  swept  the  floor  and  galleries,  and 
a  faint  cheer  rippled  the  surface,  quickly  suppressed  by 
the  gavel. 

The  negroes  placed  him  in  an  arm-chair  facing  the  semi- 


The  Supreme  Test  171 

circle  of  Senators,  and  crouched  down  on  their  haunches 
beside  him.  Their  kinky  heads,  black  skin,  thick  lips, 
white  teeth,  and  flat  noses  made  for  the  moment  a  curious 
symbolic  frame  for  the  chalk-white  passion  of  the  old 
Commoner's  face. 

No  sculptor  ever  dreamed  a  more  sinister  emblem  of  the 
corruption  of  a  race  of  empire-builders  than  this  group. 
Its  black  figures,  wrapped  in  the  night  of  four  thousand 
years  of  barbarism,  squatted  there  the  "equal"  of  their 
master,  grinning  at  his  forms  of  Justice,  the  evolution  of 
forty  centuries  of  Aryan  genius.  To  their  brute  strength 
the  white  fanatic  in  the  madness  of  his  hate  had  appealed, 
and  for  their  hire  he  had  bartered  the  birthright  of  a 
mighty  race  of  freemen. 

The  speaker  hurried  to  his  conclusion  that  the  half- 
fainting  master  might  deliver  his  message.  In  the  mean 
while  his  eyes,  cold  and  thrilling,  sought  the  secrets  of  the 
souls  of  the  judges  before  him. 

He  had  not  come  to  plead  or  persuade.  He  had  eluded 
the  vigilance  of  his  daughter  and  nurse,  escaped  with  the 
aid  of  the  brown  woman  and  her  black  allies,  and  at  the 
peril  of  his  life  had  come  to  command.  Every  energy  of 
his  indomitable  will  he  was  using  now  to  keep  from  faint 
ing.  He  felt  that  if  he  could  but  look  those  men  in  the 
face  they  would  not  dare  to  defy  his  word. 

He  shambled  painfully  to  his  feet  amid  a  silence  that 
was  awful.  Again  the  sheer  wonder  of  the  man's  person 
ality  held  the  imagination  of  the  audience.  His  audacity, 
his  fanaticism,  and  the  strange  contradictions  of  his  char 
acter  stirred  the  mind  of  friend  and  foe  alike — this  man 


172 


The  Clansman 


who  tottered  there  before  them,  holding  off  Death  with 
his  big  ugly  left  hand,  while  with  his  right  he  clutched  at  the 
throat  of  his  foe !  Honest  and  dishonest,  cruel  and  tender, 
great  and  mean,  a  party  leader  who  scorned  public  opinion, 
a  man  of  conviction,  yet  the  most  unscrupulous  politician, 
a  philosopher  who  preached  the  equality  of  man,  yet  a 
tyrant  who  hated  the  world  and -despised  all  men! 

His  very  presence  before  them  an  open  defiance  of  love 
and  life  and  death,  would  not  his  word  ring  omnipotent 
when  the  verdict  was  rendered  ?  Every  man  in  the  great 
court-room  believed  it  as  he  looked  on  the  rows  of  Senators 
hanging  on  his  lips. 

He  spoke  at  first  with  unnatural  vigour,  a  faint  flush  of 
fever  lighting  his  white  face,  his  voice  quivering  yet  pene 
trating. 

"Upon  that  man  among  you  who  shall  dare  to  acquit 
the  President,"  he  boldly  threatened,  "I  hurl  the  everlast 
ing  curse  of  a  Nation — an  infamy  that  shall  rive  and  blast 
his  children's  children  until  they  shrink  from  their  own 
name  as  from  the  touch  of  pollution ! " 

He  gasped  for  breath,  his  restless  hands  fumbled  at  his 
throat,  he  staggered  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  his 
black  guards  caught  him.  He  revived,  pushed  them  back 
on  their  haunches,  and  sat  down.  And  then,  with  his  big 
club  foot  thrust  straight  in  front  of  him,  his  gnarled  hands 
gripping  the  arms  of  his  chair,  the  massive  head  shaking 
back  and  forth  like  a  wounded  lion,  he  continued  his 
speech,  which  grew  in  fierce  intensity  with  each  laboured 
breath. 

The  effect  was  electrical.     Every  Senator  leaned  for- 


The  Supreme  Test  173 

ward  to  catch  the  lowest  whisper,  and  so  awful  was  the 
suspense  in  the  galleries  the  listeners  grew  faint. 

When  his  last  mad  challenge  was  hurled  into  the  teeth 
of  the  judges,  the  dazed  crowd  paused  for  breath  and  the 
galleries  burst  into  a  storm  of  applause. 

In  vain  the  Chief  Justice  rose,  his  lion-like  face  livid 
with  anger,  pounded  for  order,  and  commanded  the  gal 
leries  to  be  cleared. 

They  laughed  at  him.  Roar  after  roar  was  the  answer. 
The  Chief  Justice  in  loud  angry  tones  ordered  the  Sergeant- 
at-Arms  to  clear  the  galleries. 

Men  leaned  over  the  rail  and  shouted  in  his  face: 

"He  can't  do  it!" 

"He  hasn't  got  men  enough!" 

"Let  him  try  it  if  he  dares!" 

The  doorkeepers  attempted  to  enforce  the  order  by 
announcing  it  in  the  name  of  the  peace  and  dignity  and 
sovereign  power  of  the  Senate  over  its  sacred  chamber. 
The  crowd  had  now  become  a  howling  mob  which  jeered 
them. 

Senator  Grimes,  of  Iowa,  rose  and  demanded  the  reason 
why  the  Senate  was  thus  insulted  and  the  order  had  not 
been  enforced. 

A  volley  of  hisses  greeted  his  question. 

The  Chief  Justice,  evidently  quite  nervous,  declared 
the  order  would  be  enforced. 

Senator  Trumbull,  of  Illinois,  moved  that  the  offenders 
be  arrested. 

In  reply  the  crowd  yelled: 

"We'd  like  to  see  you  do  it!" 


174  The  Clansman 

At  length  the  mob  began  to  slowly  leave  the  galleries 
under  the  impression  that  the  High  Court  had  adjourned. 

Suddenly  a  man  cried  out: 

"Hold  on!  They  ain't  going  to  adjourn.  Let's  see  it 
out!" 

Hundreds  took  their  seats  again.  In  the  corridors  a 
crowd  began  to  sing  in  wild  chorus: 

"  Old  Grimes  is  dead,  that  poor  old  man."  The  women 
joined  with  glee.  Between  the  verses  the  leader  would 
curse  the  Iowa  Senator  as  a  traitor  and  copperhead. 
The  singing  could  be  distinctly  heard  by  the  Court  as 
its  roar  floated  through  the  open  doors. 

When  the  Senate  Chamber  had  been  cleared  and  the 
most  disgraceful  scene  that  ever  occurred  within  its 
portals  had  closed,  the  High  Court  of  Impeachment 
went  into  secret  session  to  consider  the  evidence  and  its 
verdict. 

Within  an  hour  from  its  adjournment  it  was  known 
to  the  Managers  that  seven  Republican  Senators  were 
doubtful,  and  that  they  formed  a  group  under  the  leader 
ship  of  two  great  constitutional  lawyers  who  still  believed 
in  the  sanctity  of  a  judge's  oath — Lyman  Trumbull,  of 
Illinois,  and  William  Pitt  Fessenden,  of  Maine.  Around 
them  had  gathered  Senators  Grimes,  of  Iowa,  Van  Winkle, 
of  Rhode  Island,  Fowler,  of  Tennessee,  Henderson,  of 
Missouri,  and  Ross,  of  Kansas.  The  Managers  were  in 
a  panic.  If  these  men  dared  to  hold  together  with  the 
twelve  Democrats,  the  President  would  be  acquitted  by 
one  vote — they  could  count  thirty-four  certain  for  con 
viction. 


The  Supreme  Test  175 

The  Revolutionists  threw  to  the  winds  the  last  scruple 
of  decency,  went  into  caucus  and  organised  a  conspiracy 
for  forcing,  within  the  few  days  which  must  pass  before 
the  verdict,  these  judges  to  submit  to  their  decree. 

Fessenden  and  Trumbull  were  threatened  with  im 
peachment  and  expulsion  from  the  Senate  and  bom 
barded  by  the  most  furious  assaults  from  the  press,  which 
denounced  them  as  infamous  traitors,  "as  mean,  repulsive 
and  noxious  as  hedgehogs  in  the  cages  of  a  travelling 
menagerie." 

A  mass-meeting  was  held  in  Washington  which  said: 

"Resolved,  that  we  impeach  Fessenden,  Trumbull,  and 
Grimes  at  the  bar  of  justice  and  humanity,  as  traitors  be 
fore  whose  guilt  the  infamy  of  Benedict  Arnold  becomes 
respectability  and  decency." 

The  Managers  sent  out  a  circular  telegram  to  every 
state  from  which  came  a  doubtful  judge: 

"  Great  danger  to  the  peace  of  the  country  if  impeach 
ment  fails.  Send  your  Senators  public  opinion  by  reso 
lutions,  letters,  and  delegates." 

The  man  who  excited  most  wrath  was  Ross,  of  Kansas. 
That  Kansas  of  all  states  should  send  a  "traitor"  was 
more  than  the  spirits  of  the  Revolutionists  could  bear. 

A  mass-meeting  in  Leavenworth  accordingly  sent  him 
the  telegram: 

"Kansas  has  heard  the  evidence  and  demands  the  con 
viction  of  the  President. 

"D.  R.  ANTHONY  and  1,000  others." 

To  this  Ross  replied: 

"I  have  taken  an  oath  to  do  impartial  justice.     I  trust 


176  The  Clansman 

I  shall  have  the  courage  and  honesty  to  vote  according 
to  the  dictates  of  my  judgment  and  for  the  highest  good 
of  my  country." 

He  got  this  answer: 

"Your  motives  are  Indian  contracts  and  greenbacks. 
Kansas  repudiates  you  as  she  does  all  perjurers  and 
skunks." 

The  Managers  organised  an  inquisition  for  the  purpose 
of  torturing  and  badgering  Ross  into  submission.  His 
one  vote  was  all  they  lacked. 

They  laid  siege  to  little  Vinnie  Ream,  the  sculp 
tress,  to  whom  Congress  had  awarded  a  contract  for  the 
statue  of  Lincoln.  Her  studio  was  in  the  crypt  of  the 
Capitol.  They  threatened  her  with  the  wrath  of  Con 
gress,  the  loss  of  her  contract  and  ruin  of  her  career  un 
less  she  found  a  way  to  induce  Senator  Ross,  whom  she 
knew,  to  vote  against  the  President. 

Such  an  attempt  to  gain  by  fraud  the  verdict  of  a  com 
mon  court  of  law  would  have  sent  its  promoters  to  prison 
for  felony.  Yet  the  Managers  of  this  case,  before  the 
highest  tribunal  of  the  world,  not  only  did  it  without  a 
blush  of  shame,  but  cursed  as  a  traitor  every  man  who 
dared  to  question  their  motives. 

As  the  day  approached  for  the  Court  to  vote,  Senator 
Ross  remained  to  friend  and  foe  a  sealed  mystery.  Re 
porters  swarmed  about  him,  the  target  of  a  thousand  eyes. 
His  rooms  were  besieged  by  his  radical  constituents  who 
had  been  imported  from  Kansas  in  droves  to  browbeat 
him  into  a  promise  to  convict.  His  movements  day  and 
night,  his  breakfast,  his  dinner,  his  supper,  the  clothes  he 


The  Supreme  Test  177 

wore,  the  colour  of  his  cravat,  his  friends  and  compan 
ions,  were  chronicled  in  hourly  bulletins  and  flashed  over 
the  wires  from  the  delirious  Capital. 

Chief  Justice  Chase  called  the  High  Court  of  Impeach 
ment  to  order,  to  render  its  verdict.  Old  Stoneman  had 
again  been  carried  to  his  chair  in  the  arms  of  two  ne 
groes,  and  sat  with  his  cold  eyes  searching  the  faces  of 
the  judges. 

The  excitement  had  reached  the  highest  pitch  of  in 
tensity.  A  sense  of  choking  solemnity  brooded  over  the 
scene.  The  feeling  grew  that  the  hour  had  struck  which 
would  test  the  capacity  of  man  to  establish  an  enduring 
Republic. 

The  clerk  read  the  Eleventh  Article,  drawn  by  the 
Great  Commoner  as  the  supreme  test. 

As  its  last  words  died  away  the  Chief  Justice  rose 
amid  a  silence  that  was  agony,  placed  his  hands  on  the 
sides  of  the  desk  as  if  to  steady  himself,  and  said: 

"Call  the  roll." 

Each  Senator  answered  "Guilty"  or  "Not  Guilty,'* 
exactly  as  they  had  been  counted  by  the  Managers,  until 
Fessenden's  name  was  called. 

A  moment  of  stillness  and  the  great  lawyer's  voice  rang 
high,  cold,  clear,  and  resonant  as  a  Puritan  church  bell  on 
Sunday  morning: 

"Not  Guilty!" 

A  murmur,  half  groan  and  sigh,  half  cheer  and  cry, 
rippled  the  great  hall. 

The  other  votes  were  discounted  now  save  that  of 
Edmund  G.  Ross,  of  Kansas.  No  human  being  on  earth 


178 


The  Clansman 


knew  what  this  man  would  do  save  the  silent  invisible 
man  within  his  soul. 

Over  the  solemn  trembling  silence  the  voice  of  the 
Chief  Justice  rang: 

"Senator  Ross,  how  say  you?  Is  the  respondent, 
Andrew  Johnson,  guilty  or  not  guilty  of  a  high  misde 
meanor  as  charged  in  this  article?" 

The  great  Judge  bent  forward;  his  brow  furrowed  as 
Ross  arose. 

His  fellow  Senators  watched  him  spellbound.  A 
thousand  men  and  women,  hanging  from  the  galleries, 
focused  then*  eyes  on  him.  Old  Stoneman  drew  his 
bristling  brows  down,  watching  him  like  an  adder  ready  to 
strike,  his  lower  lip  protruding,  his  jaws  clinched  as  a 
vice,  his  hands  fumbling  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

Every  breath  is  held,  every  ear  strained,  as  the  answer 
falls  from  the  sturdy  Scotchman  like  the  peal  of  a  trumpet : 

"Not  Guilty!" 

The  crowd  breathes — a  pause,  a  murmur,  the  shuffle 
of  a  thousand  feet 

The  President  is  acquitted,  and  the  Republic  lives! 

The  House  assembled  and  received  the  report  of  the 
verdict.  Old  Stoneman  pulled  himself  half  erect,  hold 
ing  to  his  desk,  addressed  the  Speaker,  introduced  his 
second  bill  for  the  impeachment  of  the  President,  and 
fell  fainting  in  the  arms  of  his  black  attendants. 


CHAPTER  XII 
TRIUMPH  IN  DEFEAT 

UPON  the  failure  to  convict  the  President,  Edwin 
M.    Stanton    resigned,    sank   into    despair    and 
died,  and  a  soldier  Secretary  of    War  opened 
the  prison  doors. 

Ben  Cameron  and  his  father  hurried  Southward  to  a 
home  and  land  passing  under  a  cloud  darker  than  the 
dust  and  smoke  of  blood-soaked  battle-fields — the  Black 
Plague  of  Reconstruction. 

For  two  weeks  the  old  Commoner  wrestled  in  silence 
with  Death.  When  at  last  he  spoke,  it  was  to  the  stalwart 
negroes  who  had  called  to  see  him  and  were  standing  by 
his  bedside. 

Turning  his  deep-sunken  eyes  on  them  a  moment,  he 
said  slowly: 

"I  wonder  whom  I'll  get  to  carry  me  when  you  boys 
die!" 

Elsie  hurried  to  his  side  and  kissed  him  tenderly.  For 
a  week  his  mind  hovered  in  the  twilight  that  lies  between 
time  and  eternity.  He  seemed  to  forget  the  passions  and 
fury  of  his  fierce  career  and  live  over  the  memories  of  his 
youth,  recalling  pathetically  its  bitter  poverty  and  its 
fair  dreams.  He  would  lie  for  hours  and  hold  Elsie's 
hand,  pressing  it  gently. 

179 


i8o 


The  Clansman 


In  one  of  his  lucid  moments  he  said: 

"How  beautiful  you  are,  my  child!  You  shall  be  a 
queen.  I've  dreamed  of  boundless  wealth  for  you  and 
my  boy.  My  plans  are  Napoleonic — and  I  shall  not 
fail — never  fear — aye,  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice!" 

"I  wish  no  wealth  save  the  heart  treasure  of  those  I 
love,  father,"  was  the  soft  answer. 

"Of  course,  little  day-dreamer.  But  the  old  cynic  who 
has  outlived  himself  and  knows  the  mockery  of  time  and 
things  will  be  wisdom  for  your  foolishness.  You  shall 
keep  your  toys.  What  pleases  you  shall  please  me.  Yet 
I  will  be  wise  for  us  both." 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  lips,  and  he  kissed  the  warm 
little  fingers. 

In  these  days  of  soul-nearness  the  iron  heart  softened 
as  never  before  in  love  toward  his  children.  Phil  had 
hurried  home  from  the  West  and  secured  his  release  from 
the  remaining  weeks  of  his  term  of  service. 

As  the  father  lay  watching  them  move  about  the  room, 
the  cold  light  in  his  deep-set  wonderful  eyes  would  melt 
into  a  soft  glow. 

As  he  grew  stronger,  the  old  fierce  spirit  of  the  uncon- 
quered  leader  began  to  assert  itself.  He  would  take  up 
the  fight  where  he  left  it  off  and  carry  it  to  victory. 

Elsie  and  Phil  sent  the  doctor  to  tell  him  the  truth  and 
beg  him  to  quit  politics. 

"Your  work  is  done;  you  have  but  three  months  to  live 
unless  you  go  South  and  find  new  life,"  was  the  verdict. 

"  In  either  event  I  go  to  a  warmer  climate,  eh,  doctor  ?  " 
said  the  cynic. 


Triumph  in  Defeat  181 

"Perhaps,"  was  the  laughing  reply. 

"Good.  It  suits  me  better.  I've  had  the  move  in 
mind.  I  can  do  more  effective  work  in  the  South  for  the 
next  two  years.  Your  decision  is  fate.  I'll  go  at  once." 

The  doctor  was  taken  aback. 

"Come  now,"  he  said,  persuasively.  "Let  a  disinter 
ested  Englishman  give  you  some  advice.  You've  never 
taken  any  before.  I  give  it  as  medicine,  and  I  won't  put 
it  on  your  bill.  Slow  down  on  politics.  Your  recent 
defeat  should  teach  you  a  lesson  in  conservatism." 

The  old  Commoner's  powerful  mouth  became  rigid, 
and  the  lower  lip  bulged: 

"  Conservatism — fossil  putrefaction ! " 

"But  defeat?" 

"Defeat?"  cried  the  old  man.  "Who  said  I  was  de 
feated?  The  South  lies  in  ashes  at  my  feet — the  very 
names  of  her  proud  states  blotted  from  history.  The 
Supreme  Court  awaits  my  nod.  True,  there's  a  man 
boarding  in  the  White  House,  and  I  vote  to  pay  his  bills; 
but  the  page  who  answers  my  beck  and  call  has  more 
power.  Every  measure  on  which  I've  set  my  heart  is 
law,  save  one — my  Confiscation  Act — and  this  but  waits 
the  fulness  of  time." 

The  doctor,  who  was  walking  back  and  forth  with  his 
hands  folded  behind  him,  paused  and  said: 

"I  marvel  that  a  man  of  your  personal  integrity  could 
conceive  such  a  measure;  you,  who  refused  to  accept 
the  legal  release  of  your  debts  until  the  last  farthing  was 
paid — you,  whose  cruelty  of  the  lip  is  hideous,  and  yet 
beneath  at  so  gentle  a  personality,  I've  seen  the  pages  in 


182 


The  Clansman 


the  House  stand  at  your  back  and  mimic  you  while  speak 
ing,  secure  in  the  smile  with  which  you  turned  to  greet 
their  fun.  And  yet  you  press  this  crime  upon  a  brave 
and  generous  foe?" 

"A  wrong  can  have  no  rights,"  said  Stoneman,  calmly. 
"Slavery  will  not  be  dead  until  the  landed  aristocracy  on 
which  it  rested  is  destroyed.  I  am  not  cruel  or  unjust. 
I  am  but  fulfilling  the  largest  vision  of  universal  democ 
racy  that  ever  stirred  the  soul  of  man — a  democracy  that 
shall  know  neither  rich  nor  poor,  bond  nor  free,  white  nor 
black.  If  I  use  the  wild  pulse-beat  of  the  rage  of  mil 
lions,  it  is  only  a  means  to  an  end — this  grander  vision  of 
the  soul." 

"Then  why  not  begin  at  home  this  vision,  and  give  the 
stricken  South  a  moment  to  rise?" 

"No.  The  North  is  impervious  to  change,  rich,  proud, 
and  unscathed  by  war.  The  South  is  in  chaos  and  can 
not  resist.  It  is  but  the  justice  and  wisdom  of  Heaven 
that  the  Negro  shall  rule  the  land  of  his  bondage.  It  is 
the  only  solution  of  the  race  problem.  Lincoln's  con 
tention  that  we  could  not  live  half  white  and  half  black 
is  sound  at  the  core.  When  we  proclaim  equality,  social, 
political,  and  economic  for  the  Negro,  we  mean  always  to 
enforce  it  in  the  South.  The  Negro  will  never  be  treated 
as  an  equal  in  the  North.  We  are  simply  a  set  of  cold 
blooded  liars  on  that  subject,  and  always  have  been.  To 
the  Yankee  the  very  physical  touch  of  a  Negro  is  pollution." 

"Then  you  don't  believe  this  twaddle  about  equality?" 
asked  the  doctor. 

"Yes  and  no.     Mankind  in  the  large  is  a  herd  of  mer- 


Triumph  in  Defeat  183 

cenary  gudgeons  or  fools.  As  a  lawyer  in  Pennsylvania 
I  have  defended  fifty  murderers  on  trial  for  their  lives. 
Forty-nine  of  them  were  guilty.  All  these  I  succeeded  in 
acquitting.  One  of  them  was  innocent.  This  one  they 
hung.  Can  a  man  keep  his  face  straight  in  such  a  world  ? 
Could  Negro  blood  degrade  such  stock?  Might  not  an 
ape  improve  it?  I  preach  equality  as  a  poet  and  seer 
who  sees  a  vision  beyond  the  rim  of  the  horizon  of 
to-day." 

The  old  man's  eyes  shone  with  the  set  stare  of  a  fanatic. 

"  And  you  think  the  South  is  ready  for  this  wild  vision  ?" 

"Not  ready,  but  helpless  to  resist.  As  a  cold-blooded 
scientific  experiment,  I  mean  to  give  the  Black  Man  one 
turn  at  the  Wheel  of  Life.  It  is  an  act  of  just  retribution. 
Besides,  in  my  plans  I  need  his  vote;  and  that  settles  it." 

"But  will  your  plans  work?  Your  own  reports  show 
serious  trouble  in  the  South  already." 

Stoneman  laughed. 

"I  never  read  my  own  reports.  They  are  printed  in 
molasses  to  catch  flies.  The  Southern  legislatures  played 
into  my  hands  by  copying  the  laws  of  New  England  re 
lating  to  Servants,  Masters,  Apprentices  and  Vagrants. 
But  even  these  were  repealed  at  the  first  breath  of  criticism. 
Neither  the  Freed  man's  Bureau  nor  the  army  has  ever 
loosed  its  grip  on  the  throat  of  the  South  for  a  moment. 
These  disturbances  and  'atrocities'  are  dangerous  only 
when  printed  on  campaign  fly-paper." 

"And  how  will  you  master  and  control  these  ten  great 
Southern  states?" 

"Through  my  Reconstruction  Acts  by  means  of  the 


184  The  Clansman 

Union  League.  As  a  secret  between  us,  I  am  the  soul  of 
this  order.  I  organised  it  in  1863  to  secure  my  plan  of 
confiscation.  We  pressed  it  on  Lincoln.  He  repudiated 
it.  We  nominated  Fre"mont  at  Cleveland  against  Lincoln 
in  '64,  and  tried  to  split  the  party  or  force  Lincoln  to  re 
tire.  Fremont,  a  conceited  ass,  went  back  on  this  plank 
in  our  platform,  and  we  dropped  him  and  helped  elect 
Lincoln  again." 

"I  thought  the  Union  League  a  patriotic  and  social 
organisation?"  said  the  doctor,  in  surprise. 

"  It  has  these  features,  but  its  sole  aim  as  a  secret  order 
is  to  confiscate  the  property  of  the  South.  I  will  perfect 
this  mighty  organisation  until  every  negro  stands  drilled 
in  serried  line  beneath  its  banners,  send  a  solid  delegation 
here  to  do  my  bidding,  and  return  at  the  end  of  two  years 
with  a  majority  so  overwhelming  that  my  word  will  be 
law.  I  will  pass  my  Confiscation  Bill.  If  Ulysses  S. 
Grant,  the  coming  idol,  falters,  my  second  bill  of  Impeach 
ment  will  only  need  the  change  of  a  name." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"Give  up  this  madness.  Your  life  is  hanging  by  a 
thread.  The  Southern  people  even  in  their  despair  will 
never  drink  this  black  broth  you  are  pressing  to  their 
lips." 

"They've  got  to  drink  it." 

"Your  decision  is  unalterable?" 

"Absolutely.  It's  the  breath  I  breathe.  As  my  physi 
cian  you  may  select  the  place  to  which  I  shall  be  banished. 
It  must  be  reached  by  rail  and  wire.  I  care  not  its  name 
or  size.  I'll  make  it  the  capital  of  the  Nation.  There'll 


Triumph  in  Defeat  185 

be  poetic  justice  in  setting  up  my  establishment  in  a  fallen 
slaveholder's  mansion." 

The  doctor  looked  intently  at  the  old  man: 

"The  study  of  men  has  become  a  sort  of  passion  with 
me,  but  you  are  the  deepest  mystery  I've  yet  encountered 
in  this  land  of  surprises." 

"And  why?"  asked  the  cynic. 

"Because  the  secret  of  personality  resides  in  motives, 
and  I  can't  find  yours  either  in  your  actions  or  words." 

Stoneman  glanced  at  him  sharply  from  beneath  his 
wrinkled  brows  and  snapped0 

"Keep  on  guessing.  * 

"I  will.  In  the  meantime  I'm  going  to  send  you  to 
the  village  of  Piedmont,  South  Carolina.  Your  son  and 
daughter  both  seem  enthusiastic  over  this  spot." 

"  Good;  that  settles  it.  And  now  that  mine  own  have 
been  conspiring  against  me,"  said  Stoneman,  confiden 
tially,  "  a  little  guile  on  my  part.  Not  a  word  of  what  has 
passed  between  us  to  my  children.  Tell  them  I  agree 
with  your  plans  and  give  up  my  work.  I'll  give  the  same 
story  to  the  press — I  wish  nothing  to  mar  their  happiness 
while  in  the  South.  My  secret  burdens  need  not  cloud 
their  young  lives." 

Dr.  Barnes  took  the  old  man  by  the  hand: 

"I  promise.  My  assistant  has  agreed  to  go  with  you. 
Ill  say  good-bye.  It's  an  inspiration  to  look  into  a  face 
like  yours,  lit  by  the  splendour  of  an  unconquerable  will  I 
But  I  want  to  say  something  to  you  before  you  set  out  on 
this  journey." 

"Out  with  it,"  said  the  Commoner. 


i86  The  Clansman 

"The  breed  to  which  the  Southern  white  man  belongs 
has  conquered  every  foot  of  soil  on  this  earth  their  feet 
have  pressed  for  a  thousand  years.  A  handful  of  them 
hold  in  subjection  three  hundred  millions  in  India.  Place 
a  dozen  of  them  in  the  heart  of  Africa,  and  they  will  rule 
the  continent  unless  you  kill  them " 

"Wait"  cried  Stoneman,  "until  I  put  a  ballot  in  the 
hand  of  every  negro  and  a  bayonet  at  the  breast  of  every 
white  man  from  the  James  to  the  Rio  Grande!" 

"  I'll  tell  you  a  little  story,"  said  the  doctor  with  a  smile. 
"I  once  had  a  half-grown  eagle  in  a  cage  in  my  yard. 
The  door  was  left  open  one  day,  and  a  meddlesome  rooster 
hopped  in  to  pick  a  fight.  The  eagle  had  been  sick  a  week 
and  seemed  an  easy  mark.  I  watched.  The  rooster 
jumped  and  wheeled  and  spurred  and  picked  pieces  out 
of  his  topknot.  The  young  eagle  didn't  know  at  first  what 
he  meant.  He  walked  around  dazed,  with  a  hurt  expres 
sion.  When  at  last  it  dawned  on  him  what  the  chicken 
was  about,  he  simply  reached  out  one  claw,  took  the 
rooster  by  the  neck,  planted  the  other  claw  in  his  breast, 
and  snatched  his  head  off." 

The  old  man  snapped  his  massive  jaws  together  and 
grunted  contemptuously. 


Book  III — The  Reign  of  Terror 

CHAPTER  I 
A  FALLEN  SLAVEHOLDER'S  MANSION 

PIEDMONT,  South  Carolina,  which  Elsie  and  Phfl 
had  selected  for  reasons  best  known  to  themselves 
as  the  place  of  retreat  for  their  father,  was  a  favour 
ite  summer  resort  of  Charleston  people  before  the  war. 

Ulster  county,  of  which  this  village  was  the  capital, 
bordered  on  the  North  Carolina  line,  lying  alongside  the 
ancient  shire  of  York.  It  was  settled  by  the  Scotch  folk 
"who  came  from  the  North  of  Ireland  in  the  great  migrations 
which  gave  America  three  hundred  thousand  people  of 
Covenanter  martyr  blood,  the  largest  and  most  important 
addition  to  our  population,  larger  in  numbers  than  either 
the  Puritans  of  New  England  or  the  so-called  Cavaliers 
of  Virginia  and  Eastern  Carolina;  and  far  more  important 
than  either,  in  the  growth  of  American  nationality. 

To  a  man  they  had  hated  Great  Britain.  Not  a  Tory 
was  found  among  them.  The  cries  of  their  martyred  dead 
were  still  ringing  in  then*  souls  when  George  III.  started 
on  his  career  of  oppression.  The  fiery  words  of  Patrick 
Henry,  their  spokesman  in  the  valley  of  Virginia,  had 
swept  the  aristocracy  of  the  Old  Dominion  into  rebellion 
against  the  King  and  on  into  triumphant  Democracy 

187 


i88  The  Clansman 

They  had  made  North  Carolina  the  first  home  of  freedom 
in  the  New  World,  issued  the  first  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence  in  Mecklenburg,  and  lifted  the  first  banner  of 
rebellion  against  the  tyranny  of  the  Crown. 

They  grew  to  the  soil  wherever  they  stopped,  always 
home-lovers  and  home-builders,  loyal  to  their  own  people, 
instinctive  clan  leaders  and  clan  followers.  A  sturdy, 
honest,  covenant-keeping,  God-fearing,  fighting  people, 
above  all  things  they  hated  sham  and  pretence.  They 
never  boasted  of  then'  families,  though  some  of  them  might 
have  quartered  the  royal  arms  of  Scotland  on  their  shields. 

To  these  sturdy  qualities  had  been  added  a  strain  of 
Huguenot  tenderness  and  vivacity. 

The  culture  of  cotton  as  the  sole  industry  had  fixed 
African  slavery  as  their  economic  system.  With  the  heri 
tage  of  the  Old  World  had  been  blended  forces  inherent 
in  the  earth  and  air  of  the  new  Southland,  something  of 
the  breath  of  its  unbroken  forests,  the  freedom  of  its  untrod 
mountains,  the  temper  of  its  sun,  and  the  sweetness  of  its 
tropic  perfumes. 

When  Mrs.  Cameron  received  Elsie's  letter,  asking  her 
to  secure  for  them  six  good  rooms  at  the  "Palmetto"  hotel, 
she  laughed.  The  big  rambling  hostelry  had  been  burned 
by  roving  negroes,  pigs  were  wallowing  in  the  sulphur 
springs,  and  along  its  walks,  where  lovers  of  olden  days 
had  strolled,  the  cows  were  browsing  on  the  shrubbery. 

But  she  laughed  for  a  more  important  reason.  They 
had  asked  for  a  six-room  cottage  if  accommodations  could 
not  be  had  in  the  hotel. 

She  could  put  them  in  the  Lenoir  place.    The  cotton 


A  Fallen  Slaveholder's  Mansion  189 

crop  from  their  farm  had  been  stolen  from  the  gin — the 
cotton  tax  of  $200  could  not  be  paid,  and  a  mortgage  was 
about  to  be  foreclosed  on  both  their  farm  and  home.  She 
had  been  brooding  over  their  troubles  in  despair.  The 
Stonemans'  coming  was  a  godsend. 

Mrs.  Cameron  was  helping  them  set  the  house  in  order 
to  receive  the  new  tenants. 

•  "I  declare,"  said  Mrs.  Lenoir,  gratefully.  "It  seems 
too  good  to  be  true.  Just  as  I  was  about  to  give  up — the 
first  time  in  my  life — here  came  those  rich  Yankees  and 
with  enough  rent  to  pay  the  interest  on  the  mortgages  and 
our  board  at  the  hotel.  I'll  teach  Margaret  to  paint,  and 
she  can  give  Marion  lessons  on  the  piano.  The  darkest 
hour's  just  before  day.  And  last  week  I  cried  when  they 
told  me  I  must  lose  the  farm." 

"I  was  heart-sick  over  it  for  you." 

"You  know,  the  farm  was  my  dowry  with  the  dozen 
slaves  Papa  gave  us  on  our  wedding-day.  The  negroes 
did  as  they  pleased,  yet  we  managed  to  live  and  were  very 
happy." 

Marion  entered  and  placed  a  bouquet  of  roses  on  the 
table,  touching  them  daintily  until  they  stood  each  flower 
apart  in  careless  splendour.  Their  perfume,  the  girl's  wist 
ful  dreamy  blue  eyes  and  shy  elusive  beauty,  all  seemed  a 
part  of  the  warm  sweet  air  of  the  June  morning.  Mrs. 
Lenoir  watched  her  lovingly. 

"Mama,  I'm  going  to  put  flowers  in  every  room.  I'm 
sure  they  haven't  such  lovely  ones  in  Washington,"  said 
Marion,  eagerly,  as  she  skipped  out. 

The  two  women  moved  to  the  open  window,  througn 


190  The  Clansman 

which  came  the  drone  of  bees  and  the  distant  music  of  the 
river  falls. 

"Marion's  greatest  charm,"  whispered  her  mother,  "is  in 
her  way  of  doing  things  easily  and  gently  without  a  trace 
of  effort.  Watch  her  bend  over  to  get  that  rose.  Did  you 
ever  see  anything  like  the  grace  and  symmetry  of  her 
figure — she  seems  a  living  flower!" 

"  Jeannie,  you're  making  an  idol  of  her " 

"Why  not?  With  all  our  troubles  and  poverty,  I'm 
rich  in  her!  She's  fifteen  years  old,  her  head  teeming  with 
romance.  You  know,  I  was  married  at  fifteen.  There'll 
be  a  half-dozen  boys  to  see  her  to-night  in  our  new 
home — all  of  them  head  over  heels  in  love  with  her." 

"Oh,  Jeannie,  you  must  not  be  so  silly!  We  should 
worship  God  only." 

"Isn't  she  God's  message  to  me,  and  to  the  world?" 

"But  if  anything  should  happen  to  her " 

The  young  mother  laughed.  "I  never  think  of  it. 
Some  things  are  fixed.  Her  happiness  and  beauty  are  to 
me  the  sign  of  God's  presence." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you're  coming  to  live  with  us  in  the 
heart  of  town.  This  place  is  a  cosey  nest,  just  such  a  one 
as  a  poet-lover  would  build  here  in  the  edge  of  these 
deep  woods,  but  it  is  too  far  out  for  you  to  be  alone. 
Dr.  Cameron  has  been  worrying  about  you  ever  since  he 
came  home." 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  the  negroes.  I  don't  know  one  of 
them  who  wouldn't  go  out  of  his  way  to  do  me  a  favour. 
Old  Aleck  is  the  only  rascal  I  know  among  them,  and 
he's  too  busy  with  politics  now  even  to  steal  a  chicken.** 


A  Fallen  Slaveholder's  Mansion  191 

"And  Gus,  the  young  scamp  we  used  to  own;  you 
haven't  forgotten  him?  He  is  back  here,  a  member  of 
the  company  of  negro  troops,  and  parades  before  the  house 
every  day  to  show  off  his  uniform.  Dr.  Cameron  told  him 
yesterday  he'd  thrash  him  if  he  caught  him  hanging  around 
the  place  again.  He  frightened  Margaret  nearly  to  death 
when  she  went  to  the  barn  to  feed  her  horse." 

"I've  never  known  the  meaning  of  fear.  We  used  to 
roam  the  woods  and  fields  together  all  hours  of  the  day 
and  night,  my  lover,  Marion  and  I.  This  panic  seems 
absurd  to  me." 

"Well,  I'll  be  glad  to  get  you  two  children  under  my 
wing.  I  was  afraid  I'd  find  you  in  tears  over  moving  from 
your  nest." 

"No,  where  Marion  is,  I'm  at  home,  and  I'll  feel  I've  a 
mother  when  I  get  with  you." 

"  Will  you  come  to  the  hotel  before  they  arrive  ?  " 

"No;  I'll  welcome  and  tell  them  how  glad  I  am  they 
have  brought  me  good  luck." 

"I'rr:  delighted,  Jeannie.  I  wished  you  to  do  this,  but 
I  couldn't  ask  it.  I  can  never  do  enough  for  this  old 
man's  daughter.  We  must  make  their  stay  happy.  They 
say  he's  a  terrible  old  Radical  politician,  but  I  suppose  he's 
no  meaner  than  the  others.  He's  very  ill,  and  she  loves 
him  devotedly.  He  is  coming  here  to  find  health,  and  not 
to  insult  us.  Besides,  he  was  kind  to  me.  He  wrote  a 
letter  to  the  President.  Nothing  that  I  have  will  be  too 
good  for  him  or  for  his.  It's  very  brave  and  sweet  of  you 
to  stay  and  meet  them." 

"I'm  doing  it  to  please  Marion.     She  suggested  it  last 


192  The  Clansman 

night,  sitting  out  on  the  porch  in  the  twilight.     She  slipped 
her  arm  around  me  and  said: 

"'Mama,  we  must  welcome  them,  and  make  them  feel 
at  home.  He  is  very  ill.  They  will  be  tired  and  home 
sick.  Suppose  it  were  you  and  I,  and  we  were  taking  my 
Papa  to  a  strange  place.'" 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

When  the  Stonemans  arrived,  the  old  man  was  too  ill 
and  nervous  from  the  fatigue  of  the  long  journey  to  notice 
his  surroundings  or  to  be  conscious  of  the  restful  beauty 
of  the  cottage  into  which  they  carried  him.  His  room 
looked  out  over  the  valley  of  the  river  for  miles,  and 'the 
glimpse  he  got  of  its  broad  fertile  acres  only  confirmed 
his  ideas  of  the  " slaveholding  oligarchy"  it  was  his  life- 
purpose  to  crush.  Over  the  mantel  hung  a  steel  engrav 
ing  of  Calhoun.  He  fell  asleep  with  his  deep,  sunken 
eyes  resting  on  it  and  a  cynical  smile  playing  about  his 
grim  mouth. 

Margaret  and  Mrs.  Cameron  had  met  the  Stonemans 
and  their  physician  at  the  train,  and  taken  Elsie  and  her 
father  in  the  old  weather-beaten  family  carriage  to  the 
Lenoir  cottage,  apologising  for  Ben's  absence. 

"He  has  gone  to  Nashville  on  some  important  legal 
business,  and  the  doctor  is  ailing,  but  as  the  head  of  the 
clan  Cameron  he  told  me  to  welcome  your  father  to  the 
hospitality  of  the  county,  and  beg  him  to  let  us  know  if 
he  could  be  of  help." 

The  old  man,  who  sat  in  a  stupor  of  exhaustion,  made 
no  response,  and  Elsie  hastened  to  say: 

"We  appreciate  your  kindness  more  than  I  can  tell  you. 


A  Fallen  Slaveholder's  Mansion  193 

Mrs.  Cameron.  I  trust  father  will  be  better  in  a  day  or 
two,  when  he  will  thank  you.  The  trip  has  been  more 
than  he  could  bear." 

"I  am  expecting  Ben  home  this  week,"  the  mother 
whispered.  "I  need  not  tell  you  that  he  will  be  delighted 
at  your  coming." 

Elsie  smiled  and  blushed. 

"And  I'll  expect  Captain  Stoneman  to  see  me  very  soon," 
said  Margaret,  softly.  "You  will  not  forget  to  tell  him 
for  me?" 

"He's  a  very  retiring  young  man,"  said  Elsie,  "and 
pretends  to  be  busy  about  our  baggage  just  now.  I'm 
sure  he  will  find  the  way." 

Elsie  fell  in  love  at  sight  with  Marion  and  her  mother. 
Their  easy  genial  manners,  the  genuineness  of  their 
welcome,  and  the  simple  kindness  with  which  they 
sought  to  make  her  feel  at  home  put  her  heart  into  a 
warm  glow. 

Mrs.  Lenoir  explained  the  conveniences  of  the  place 
and  apologised  for  its  defects,  the  results  of  the  war. 

"I  am  sorry  about  the  window-curtains — we  have 
used  them  all  for  dresses.  Marion  is  a  genius  with  a 
needle,  and  we  took  the  last  pair  out  of  the  parlour  to 
make  a  dress  for  a  birthday  party.  The  year  before,  we 
used  the  ones  in  my  room  for  a  costume  at  a  starvation 
party  in  a  benefit  for  our  rector — you  know  we're  Episco 
palians — strayed  up  here  for  our  health  from  Charleston 
among  these  good  Scotch  Presbyterians." 

"We  will  soon  place  curtains  at  the  windows,"  said 
Elsie,  cheerfully. 


194  The  Clansman 

"The  carpets  were  sent  to  the  soldiers  for  blankets  dur 
ing  the  war.  It  was  all  we  could  do  for  our  poor  boys, 
except  to  cut  my  hair  and  sell  it.  You  see  my  hair  hasn't 
grown  out  yet.  I  sent  it  to  Richmond  the  last  year  of  the 
war.  I  felt  I  must  do  something,  when  my  neighbours 
were  giving  so  much.  You  know  Mrs.  Cameron  lost 
four  boys." 

"I  prefer  the  floors  bare,"  Elsie  replied.  "We  will 
get  a  few  rugs." 

She  looked  at  the  girlish  hair  hanging  in  ringlets  about 
Mrs.  Lenoir's  handsome  face,  smiled  pathetically,  and 
asked: 

"Did  you  really  make  such  sacrifices  for  your  cause?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  was  glad  when  the  war  was  ended  for 
some  things.  We  certainly  needed  a  few  pins,  needles, 
and  buttons,  to  say  nothing  of  a  cup  of  coffee  or  tea." 

"I  trust  you  will  never  lack  for  anything  again,"  said 
Elsie,  kindly. 

"You  will  bring  us  good  luck,"  Mrs.  Lenoir  responded. 
"Your  coming  is  so  fortunate.  The  cotton  tax  Congress 
levied  was  so  heavy  this  year,  we  were  going  to  lose 
everything.  Such  a  tax  when  we  are  all  about  to  starve! 
Dr.  Cameron  says  it  was  an  act  of  stupid  vengeance  on 
the  South,  and  that  no  other  farmers  in  America  have 
their  crops  taxed  by  the  National  Government.  I  am  so 
glad  your  father  has  come.  He  is  not  hunting  for  an 
office.  He  can  help  us,  maybe." 

"I  am  sure  he  will,"  answered  Elsie,  thoughtfully. 

Marion  ran  up  the  steps,  lightly,  her  hair  dishevelled 
and  face  flushed. 


A  Fallen  Slaveholder's  Mansion  195 

"Now,  Mama,  it's  almost  sundown;  you  get  ready  to 
go.  I  want  her  awhile  to  show  her  about  my  things." 

She  took  Elsie  shyly  by  the  hand  and  led  her  into  the 
lawn,  while  her  mother  paid  a  visit  to  each  room,  and 
made  up  the  last  bundle  of  odds  and  ends  she  meant  to 
carry  to  the  hotel. 

"I  hope  you  will  love  the  place  as  we  do,"  said  the  girl, 
simply. 

"I  think  it  very  beautiful  and  restful,"  Elsie  replied. 
"This  wilderness  of  flowers  looks  like  fairyland.  You 
have  roses  running  on  the  porch  around  the  whole  length 
of  the  house." 

"Yes,  Papa  was  crazy  over  the  trailing  roses,  and  kept 
planting  them  until  the  house  seems  just  a  frame  built  to 
hold  them,  with  a  roof  on  it.  But  you  can  see  the  river 
through  the  arches  from  three  sides.  Ben  Cameron 
helped  me  set  that  big  beauty  on  the  south  corner  the 
day  he  ran  away  to  the  war " 

"The  view  is  glorious!"  Elsie  exclaimed,  looking  in 
rapture  over  the  river  valley. 

The  village  of  Piedmont  crowned  an  immense  hill  on 
the  banks  of  the  Broad  River,  just  where  it  dashes 
over  the  last  stone  barrier  in  a  series  of  beautiful  falls 
and  spreads  out  in  peaceful  glory  through  the  plains  to 
ward  Columbia  and  the  distant  sea.  The  muffled  roar 
of  these  falls,  rising  softly  through  the  trees  on  its  wooded 
cliff,  held  the  daily  life  of  the  people  in  the  spell  of  distant 
music.  In  fair  weather  it  soothed  and  charmed,  and  in 
storm  and  freshet  rose  to  the  deep  solemn  growl  of  thunder. 

The  river  made  a  sharp  bend  as  it  emerged  from  the 


196  The  Clansman 

hills  and  flowed  westward  for  six  miles  before  it  turned 
south  again.  Beyond  this  six-mile  sweep  of  its  broad 
channel  loomed  the  three  ranges  of  the  Blue  Ridge  moun 
tains,  the  first  one  dark,  rich,  distinct,  clothed  in  eternal 
green,  the  last  one  melting  in  dim  lines  into  the  clouds 
and  soft  azure  of  the  sky. 

As  the  sun  began  to  sink  now  behind  these  distant 
peaks,  each  cloud  that  hung  about  them  burst  into  a 
blazing  riot  of  colour.  The  silver  mirror  of  the  river 
caught  their  shadows,  and  the  water  glowed  in  sympathy. 

As  Elsie  drank  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  the  music  of  the 
falls  ringing  its  soft  accompaniment,  her  heart  went  out 
in  a  throb  of  love  and  pity  for  the  land  and  its  people. 

"  Can  you  blame  us  for  loving  such  a  spot  ?  "  said  Marion. 
"It's  far  more  beautiful  from  the  cliff  at  Lover's  Leap. 
I'll  take  you  there  some  day.  My  father  used  to  tell  me 
that  thic  world  was  Heaven,  and  that  the  spirits  would  all 
come  back  to  live  here  when  sin  and  shame  and  strife 
were  gone." 

"Are  your  father's  poems  published?"  asked  Elsie. 

"Only  in  the  papers.  We  have  them  clipped  and 
pasted  in  a  scrap-book.  I'll  show  you  the  one  about  Ben 
Cameron  some  day.  You  met  him  in  Washington,  didn't 
you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Elsie,  quietly. 

"Then  I  know  he  made  love  to  you." 

"Why?" 

"You're  so  pretty.     He  couldn't  help  it." 

"  Does  he  make  love  to  every  pretty  girl  ? " 

"Always.     It's  his  religion.     But  he  does  it  so  beauti* 


A  Fallen  Slaveholder's  Mansion  197 

fully  you  can't  help  believing  it,  until  you  compare  notes 
with  the  other  girls." 

"Did  he  make  love  to  you?" 

"He  broke  my  heart  when  he  ran  away.  I  cried  a 
whole  week.  But  I  got  over  it.  He  seemed  so  big  and 
grown  when  he  came  home  this  last  time.  I  was  afraid 
to  let  him  kiss  me." 

"Did  he  dare  to  try?" 

"  No,  and  it  hurt  my  feelings.  You  see,  I'm  not  quite 
old  enough  to  be  serious  with  the  big  boys,  and  he  looked 
so  brave  and  handsome  with  that  ugly  scar  on  the  edge 
of  his  forehead,  and  everybody  was  so  proud  of  him.  I 
was  just  dying  to  kiss  him,  and  I  thought  it  downright 
mean  in  him  not  to  offer  it." 

"Would  you  have  let  him?" 

"I  expected  him  to  try." 

"He  is  very  popular  in  Piedmont?" 

"Every  girl  in  town  is  in  love  with  him." 

"And  he  in  love  with  all?" 

"He  pretends  to  be — but  between  us,  he's  a  great  flirt. 
He's  gone  to  Nashville  now  on  some  pretended  business. 
Goodness  only  knows  where  he  got  the  money  to  go.  I 
believe  there's  a  girl  there." 

"Why?" 

"Because  he  was  so  mysterious  about  his  trip.  I'll 
keep  an  eye  on  him  at  the  hotel.  You  know  Margaret, 
too,  don't  you?" 

"Yes;  we  met  her  in  Washington." 

"Well,  she's  the  slyest  flirt  in  town — it  runs  in  the  blood 
—has  a  half-dozen  beaux  to  see  her  every  day.  She  plays 


198  The  Clansman 

the  organ  in  the  Presbyterian  Sunday  school,  and  the 
young  minister  is  dead  in  love  with  her.  They  say  they 
are  engaged.  I  don't  believe  it.  I  think  it's  another  one. 
But  I  must  hurry,  I've  so  much  to  show  and  tell  you. 
Come  here  to  the  honeysuckle " 

Marion  drew  the  vines  apart  from  the  top  of  the  fence 
and  revealed  a  mocking-bird  on  her  nest, 

"She's  setting.  Don't  let  anything  hurt  her.  I'd 
push  her  off  and  show  you  her  speckled  eggs,  but  it's  so 
late." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  hurt  her  for  the  world!"  cried  Elsie 
with  delight. 

"And  right  here,"  said  Marion,  bending  gracefully 
over  a  tall  bunch  of  grass,  "  is  a  pee-wee's  nest,  four  darling 
little  eggs;  look  out  for  that." 

Elsie  bent  and  saw  the  pretty  nest  perched  on  stems  of 
grass,  and,  over  it,  the  taller  leaves  drawn  to  a  point. 

"Isn't  it  cute!"  she  murmured. 

"Yes;  I've  six  of  these  and  three  mocking-bird  nests, 
I'll  show  them  to  you.  But  the  most  particular  one  of 
all  is  the  wren's  nest  in  the  fork  of  the  cedar,  close  to  the 
house." 

She  led  Elsie  to  the  tree,  and  about  two  feet  from  the 
ground,  in  the  forks  of  the  trunk,  was  a  tiny  hole  from 
which  peeped  the  eyes  of  a  wren. 

"Whatever  you  do,  don't  let  anything  hurt  her.  Her 
mate  sings  '  Free-nigger!  Free-nigger!  Free-snigger^ 
every  morning  hi  this  cedar." 

"And  you  think  we  will  specially  enjoy  that?"  asked 
Elsie,  laughing. 


A  Fallen  Slaveholder's  Mansion 

"Now,  really,"  cried  Marion,  taking  Elsie's  hand, 
*'you  know  I  couldn't  think  of  such  a  mean  joke.  I  for 
got  you  were  from  the  North.  You  seem  so  sweet  and 
homelike.  He  really  does  sing  that  way.  You  will  hear 
him  in  the  morning,  bright  and  early,  'Free-nigger!  Free* 
nigger!  Free-snigger!'  just  as  plain  as  I'm  saying  it." 

"And  did  you  learn  to  find  all  these  birds'  nests  by 
yourself  ?  " 

"Papa  taught  me.  I've  got  some  jay-birds  and  some 
cat-birds  so  gentle  they  hop  right  down  at  my  feet.  Some 
people  hate  jay-birds.  But  I  like  them,  they  seem  to  be 
having  such  a  fine  time  and  enjoy  life  so.  You  don't 
mind  jay-birds,  do  you?" 

"I  love  every  bird  that  flies." 

"Except  hawks  and  owls  and  buzzards *' 

"Well,  I've  seen  so  few  I  can't  say  I've  anything  par 
ticular  against  them." 

"Yes,  they  eat  chickens — except  the  buzzards,  and 
they're  so  ugly  and  filthy.  Now,  I've  a  chicken  to  show 
you — please  don't  let  Aunt  Cindy — she's  to  be  your  cook 
— please  don't  let  her  kill  him — he's  crippled — has  some 
thing  the  matter  with  his  foot.  He  was  born  that  way. 
Everybody  wanted  to  kill  him,  but  I  wouldn't  let  them. 
I've  had  an  awful  time  raising  him,  but  he's  all  right  now."1 

Marion  lifted  a  box  and  showed  her  the  lame  pet,  softly 
clucking  his  protest  against  the  disturbance  of  his  rest. 

'  I'll  take  good  care  of  him,  never  fear,"  said  Elsie,  with 
a  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"And  I  have  a  queer  little  black  cat  I  wanted  to  show 
you,  but  he's  gone  off  somewhere.  I'd  take  him  with 


200  The  Clansman 

me — only  it's  bad  luck  to  move  cats.  He's  awful  wild— 
won't  let  anybody  pet  him  but  me.  Mama  says  he's  an 
imp  of  Satan — but  I  love  him.  He  runs  up  a  tree  when 
anybody  else  tries  to  get  him.  But  he  climbs  right  up  on 
my  shoulder.  I  never  loved  any  cat  quite  as  well  as  this 
silly,  half-wild  one.  You  don't  mind  black  cats,  do  you  ?" 

"No,  dear;  I  like  cats." 

"Then  I  know  you'll  be  good  to  him." 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Elsie,  with  amused  interest. 

"No,  I've  the  funniest  yellow  dog  that  comes  here  at 
night  to  pick  up  the  scraps  and  things.  He  isn't  my  dog — 
just  a  little  personal  friend  of  mine — but  I  like  him  very 
much,  and  always  give  him  something.  He's  very  cute. 
I  think  he's  a  nigger  dog." 

"  A  nigger  dog  ?    What's  that  ? " 

"He  belongs  to  some  coloured  people,  who  don't  give 
him  enough  to  eat.  I  love  him  because  he's  so  faithful 
to  his  own  folks.  He  comes  to  see  me  at  night  and  pre 
tends  to  love  me,  but  as  soon  as  I  feed  him  he  trots  back 
home.  When  he  first  came,  I  laughed  till  I  cried  at  his 
antics  over  a  carpet — we  had  a  carpet  then.  He  never 
saw  one  before,  and  barked  at  the  colours  and  the  figures 
in  the  pattern.  Then  he'd  lie  down  and  rub  his  back 
on  it  and  growl.  You  won't  let  anybody  hurt  him?" 

"No.     Are  there  any  others?" 

"Yes,  I  'most  forgot.  If  Sam  Ross  comes — Sam's  an 
idiot  who  lives  at  the  poorhouse  —  if  he  comes,  he'll  ex 
pect  a  dinner — my,  my,  I'm  afraid  he'll  cry  when  he  finds 
we're  not  here!  But  you  can  send  him  to  the  hotel  to  me. 
Don't  let  Aunt  Cindy  speak  rough  to  him.  Aunt  Cindy's 


A  Fallen  Slaveholder's  Mansion  201 

awfully  good  to  me,  but  she  can't  bear  Sam.  She  thinks 
he  brings  bad  luck." 

"How  on  earth  did  you  meet  him?" 

"His  father  was  rich.  He  was  a  good  friend  of  my 
Papa's.  We  came  near  losing  our  farm  once,  because  a 
bank  failed.  Mr.  Ross  sent  Papa  a  signed  check  on  his 
own  bank,  and  told  him  to  write  the  amount  he  needed 
on  it,  and  pay  him  when  he  was  able.  Papa  cried  over 
it,  and  wouldn't  use  it,  and  wrote  a  poem  on  the  back  of 
the  check — one  of  the  sweetest  of  all,  I  think.  In  the 
war  Mr.  Ross  lost  his  two  younger  sons,  both  killed  at 
Gettysburg.  His  wife  died  heart-broken,  and  he  only 
lived  a  year  afterward.  He  sold  his  farm  for  Confederate 
money,  and  everything  was  lost.  Sam  was  sent  to  the 
poorhouse.  He  found  out  somehow  that  we  loved  him 
and  comes  to  see  us.  He's  as  harmless  as  a  kitten,  and 
works  the  garden  beautifully." 

"I'll  remember,"  Elsie  promised. 

"And  one  thing  more,"  she  said,  hesitatingly.  "Mama 
asked  me  to  speak  to  you  of  this — that's  why  she  slipped 
away.  There's  one  little  room  we  have  locked.  It  was 
Papa's  study  just  as  he  left  it,  with  his  papers  scattered 
on  the  desk,  the  books  and  pictures  that  he  loved — you 
won't  mind?" 

Elsie  slipped  her  arm  about  Marion,  looked  into  the 
blue  eyes,  dim  with  tears,  drew  her  close,  and  said: 

"It  shall  be  sacred,  my  child.  You  must  come  every 
day  if  possible,  and  help  me." 

"I  will.  I've  so  many  beautiful  places  to  show  you  in 
the  woods — places  he  loved,  and  taught  us  to  see  and  love. 


202  The  Clansman 

They  won't  let  me  go  in  the  woods  any  more  alone.  But 
you  have  a  big  brother.  That  must  be  very  sweet." 

Mrs.  Lenoir  hurried  to  Elsie. 

"Come,  Marion,  we  must  be  going  now." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  you  leave  the  home  you  love  so 
dearly,  Mrs.  Lenoir,"  said  the  Northern  girl,  taking  her 
extended  hand.  "  I  hope  you  can  soon  find  a  way  to  have 
it  back." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  mother,  cheerily.  "The 
longer  you  stay,  the  better  for  us.  You  don't  know  how 
happy  I  am  over  your  coming.  It  has  lifted  a  load  from 
our  hearts.  In  the  liberal  rent  you  pay  us  you  are  our 
benefactors.  We  are  very  grateful  and  happy." 

Elsie  watched  them  walk  across  the  lawn  to  the  street, 
the  daughter  leaning  on  the  mother's  arm.  She  followed 
slowly  and  stopped  behind  one  of  the  arbor-vitse  bushes 
beside  the  gate.  The  full  moon  had  risen  as  the  twilight 
fell  and  flooded  the  scene  with  soft  white  light.  A  whip- 
poorwill  struck  his  first  plaintive  note,  his  weird  song 
seeming  to  come  from  all  directions  and  yet  to  be  under 
her  feet.  She  heard  the  rustle  of  dresses  returning  along 
the  walk,  and  Marion  and  her  mother  stood  at  the  gate. 
They  looked  long  and  tenderly  at  the  house.  Mrs.  Lenoir 
uttered  a  broken  sob,  Marion  slipped  an  arm  around  her, 
brushed  the  short  curling  hair  back  from  her  forehead, 
and  softly  said: 

"Mama,  dear,  you  know  it's  best.  I  don't  mind. 
Everybody  in  town  loves  us.  Every  boy  and  girl  in 
Piedmont  worships  you.  We  will  be  just  as  happy  at 
the  hotel." 


A  Fallen  Slaveholder's  Mansion  203 

< 
In  the  pauses  between  the  strange  bird's  cry,  Elsie 

caught  the  sound  of  another  sob,  and  then  a  soothing 
murmur  as  of  a  mother  bending  over  a  cradle,  and  they 
were  gone. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  EYES  OF  THE  JUNGLE 

ELSIE  stood  dreaming  for  a  moment  in  the  shadow 
of    the  arbor-vitae,  breathing  the  sensuous  per 
fumed  air  and  listening  to  the  distant  music  of 
the  falls,  her  heart  quivering  in  pity  for  the  anguish  of 
which  she  had  been  a  witness.     Again  the  spectral  cry 
of  the  whippoorwill  rang  near-by,  and  she  noted  for  the 
first  time  the  curious  cluck  with  which  the  bird  punctu 
ated  each  call.     A  sense  of  dim  foreboding  oppressed  her. 

She  wondered  if  the  chatter  of  Marion  about  the  girl 
in  Nashville  were  only  a  child's  guess  or  more.  She 
laughed  softly  at  the  absurdity  of  the  idea.  Never  since 
she  had  first  looked  into  Ben  Cameron's  face  did  she  feel 
surer  of  the  honesty  and  earnestness  of  his  love  than  to 
day  in  this  quiet  home  of  his  native  village.  It  must  be 
the  queer  call  of  the  bird  which  appealed  to  superstitions 
she  did  not  know  were  hidden  within  her  being. 

Still  dreaming  under  its  spell,  she  was  startled  at  the 
tread  of  two  men  approaching  the  gate. 

The  taller,  more  powerful-looking  man  put  his  hand 
on  the  latch  and  paused. 

"Allow  no  white  man  to  order  you  around.  Remember 
you  are  a  freeman  and  as  good  as  any  pale-face  who  walks 
this  earth." 

204 


The  Eyes  of  the  Jungle  205 

She  recognised  the  voice  of  Silas  Lynch. 

"Ben  Cameron  dare  me  to  come  about  de  house,"  said 
the  other  voice. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  say,  wid  his  eyes  batten'  des  like  lightnen',  'Ef  I 
ketch  you  hangin'  'roun'  dis  place  agin',  Gus,  I'll  jump 
on  you  en  stomp  de  life  outen  ye.'  ' 

"Well,  you  tell  him  that  your  name  is  Augustus,  not 
'  Gus,'  and  that  the  United  States  troops  quartered  in  this 
town  will  be  with  him  soon  after  the  stomping  begins. 
You  wear  its  uniform.  Give  the  white  trash  in  this  town 
to  understand  that  they  are  not  even  citizens  of  the  Nation. 
As  a  sovereign  voter,  you,  once  their  slave,  are  not  only 
their  equal — you  are  their  master." 

"Dat  I  will!"  was  the  firm  answer. 

The  negro  to  whom  Lynch  spoke  disappeared  in  the 
direction  taken  by  Marion  and  her  mother,  and  the  figure 
of  the  handsome  mulatto  passed  rapidly  up  the  walk, 
ascended  the  steps  and  knocked  at  the  door. 

Elsie  followed  him. 

"  My  father  is  too  much  fatigued  with  his  journey  to  be 
seen  now;  you  must  call  to-morrow,"  she  said. 

The  negro  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed: 

"Ah,  we  are  delighted  to  welcome  you,  Miss  Stoneman, 
to  our  land!  Your  father  asked  me  to  call  immediately  on 
his  arrival.  I  have  but  obeyed  his  orders." 

Elsie  shrank  from  the  familiarity  of  his  manner  and  the 
tones  of  authority  and  patronage  with  which  he  spoke. 

"He  cannot  be  seen  at  this  hour,"  she  answered,  shortly. 

"Perhaps  you  will  present  my  card,  then — say  that  I 


206  The  Clansman 

am  at  his  service,  and  let  him  appoint  the  time  at  which 
I  shall  return?" 

She  did  not  invite  him  in,  but  with  easy  assurance  he 
took  his  seat  on  the  joggle-board  beside  the  door  and 
awaited  her  return. 

Against  her  urgent  protest,  Stoneman  ordered  Lynch  to 
be  shown  at  once  to  his  bedroom. 

When  the  door  was  closed,  the  old  Commoner,  without 
turning  to  greet  his  visitor  or  moving  his  position  in  bed, 
asked: 

"Are  you  following  my  instructions?" 

"To  the  letter,  sir." 

"You  are  initiating  the  negroes  into  the  League  and 
teaching  them  the  new  catechism?" 

"With  remarkable  success.  Its  secrecy  and  ritual 
appeal  to  them.  Within  six  months  we  shall  have  the  whole 
race  under  our  control  almost  to  a  man." 

"Almost  to  a  man?" 

"We  find  some  so  attached  to  their  former  masters  that 
reason  is  impossible  with  them.  Even  threats  and  the 
promise  of  forty  acres  of  land  have  no  influence." 

The  old  man  snorted  with  contempt. 

"If  anything  could  reconcile  me  to  the  Satanic  Institu 
tion,  it  is  the  character  of  the  wretches  who  submit  to  it 
and  kiss  the  hand  that  strikes.  After  all,  a  slave  deserves 
to  be  a  slave.  The  man  who  is  mean  enough  to  wear 
chains  ought  to  wear  them.  You  must  teach,  teach,  TEACH, 
these  black  hounds  to  know  they  are  men,  not  brutes! " 

The  old  man  paused  a  moment,  and  his  restless  hands 
fumbled  the  cover. 


The  Eyes  of  the  Jungle  207 

"Your  first  task,  as  I  told  you  in  the  beginning,  is  to 
teach  every  negro  to  stand  erect  in  the  presence  of  his 
former  master  and  assert  his  manhood.  Unless  he  does 
this,  the  South  will  bristle  with  bayonets  in  vain.  The 
man  who  believes  he  is  a  dog,  is  one.  The  man  who  be 
lieves  himself  a  king,  may  become  one.  Stop  this  snivelling 
and  sneaking  round  the  back  doors.  I  can  do  nothing, 
God  Almighty  can  do  nothing,  for  a  coward.  Fix  this  as 
the  first  law  of  your  own  life.  Lift  up  your  head!  The 
world  is  yours.  Take  it.  Beat  this  into  the  skulls  of  your 
people,  if  you  do  it  with  an  axe.  Teach  them  the 
military  drill  at  once.  I'll  see  that  Washington  sends 
the  guns.  The  state,  when  under  your  control,  can 
furnish  the  powder." 

"It  will  surprise  you  to  know  the  thoroughness  with 
which  this  has  been  done  already  by  the  League,"  said 
Lynch.  "The  white  master  believed  he  could  vote  the 
Negro  as  he  worked  him  in  the  fields  during  the  war.  The 
League,  with  its  blue  flaming  altar,  under  the  shadows 
of  night,  has  wrought  a  miracle.  The  Negro  is  the  enemy 
of  his  former  master  and  will  be  for  all  time." 

"For  the  present,"  said  the  old  man,  meditatively,  "not 
a  word  to  a  living  soul  as  to  my  connection  with  this  work. 
When  the  time  is  ripe,  I'll  show  my  hand." 

Elsie  entered,  protesting  against  her  father's  talking 
longer,  and  showed  Lynch  to  the  door. 

He  paused  on  the  moonlit  porch  and  tried  to  engage  her 
in  familiar  talk. 

She  cut  him  short,  and  he  left  reluctantly. 

As  he  bowed  his  thick  neck  in  pompous  courtesy,  she 


208  The  Clansman 

caught  with  a  shiver  the  odor  of  pomade  on  his  black  half- 
kinked  hair.  He  stopped  on  the  lower  step,  looked  back 
with  smiling  insolence,  and  gazed  intently  at  her  beauty. 
The  girl  shrank  from  the  gleam  of  the  jungle  in  his  eyes 
and  hurried  within. 

She  found  her  father  sunk  in  a  stupor.  Her  cry  brought 
the  young  surgeon  hurrying  into  the  room,  and  at  the  end 
of  an  hour  he  said  to  Elsie  and  Phil: 

"He  has  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis.  He  may  lie  in 
mental  darkness  for  months  and  then  recover.  His  heart 
action  is  perfect.  Patience,  care,  and  love  will  save  him. 
There  is  no  cause  for  immediate  alarm." 


CHAPTER  III 

AUGUSTUS  CAESAR 

PHIL  early  found  the  home  of  the  Camerons  the 
most  charming  spot  in  town.  As  he  sat  in  the 
old-fashioned  parlour  beside  Margaret,  his  brain 
seethed  with  plans  for  building  a  hotel  on  a  large  scale  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Square  and  restoring  her  home  intact. 

The  Cameron  homestead  was  a  large  brick  building 
with  an  ample  porch,  looking  out  directly  on  the  Court 
House  Square,  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  lawn  full  of 
trees,  flowers,  shrubbery,  and  a  wilderness  of  evergreen 
boxwood  planted  fifty  years  before.  It  was  located  on  the 
farm  from  which  it  had  always  derived  its  support.  The 
farm  extended  up  into  the  village  itself,  with  the  great  barn 
easily  seen  from  the  street. 

Phil  was  charmed  with  the  doctor's  genial  personality. 
He  often  found  the  father  a  decidedly  easier  person  to  get 
along  with  than  his  handsome  daughter.  The  Rev.  Hugh 
McAlpin  was  a  daily  caller,  and  Margaret  had  a  tantalising 
way  of  showing  her  deference  to  his  opinions. 

Phil  hated  this  preacher  from  the  moment  he  laid  eyes 
on  him.  His  pugnacious  piety  he  might  have  endured  but 
for  the  fact  that  he  was  good-looking  and  eloquent.  When 
he  rose  in  the  pulpit  in  all  his  sacred  dignity,  fixed  his  eyes 
on  Margaret,  and  began  in  tenderly  modulated  voice  to  tell 

209 


210  The  Clansman 

about  the  love  of  God,  Phil  clinched  his  fist.  He  didn't 
care  to  join  the  Presbyterian  church,  but  he  quietly  made 
up  his  mind  that,  if  it  came  to  the  worst  and  she  asked  him, 
he  would  join  anything.  What  made  him  furious  was  the 
air  of  assurance  with  which  the  young  divine  carried  him 
self  about  Margaret,  as  if  he  had  but  to  say  the  word 
and  it  would  be  fixed  as  by  a  decree  issued  from  before 
the  foundations  of  the  world. 

He  was  pleased  and  surprised  to  find  that  his  being  a 
Yankee  made  no  difference  in  his  standing  or  welcome. 
The  people  seemed  unconscious  of  the  part  his  father 
played  at  Washington.  Stoneman's  Confiscation  Bill  had 
not  yet  been  discussed  in  Congress,  and  the  promise  of 
land  to  the  negroes  was  universally  regarded  as  a  hoax  of 
the  League  to  win  their  followers.  The  old  Commoner 
was  not  an  orator.  Hence  his  name  was  scarcely  known 
in  the  South.  The  Southern  people  could  not  conceive  of 
a  great  leader  except  one  who  expressed  his  power  through 
the  megaphone  of  oratory.  They  held  Charles  Sumner 
chiefly  responsible  for  Reconstruction. 

The  fact  that  Phil  was  a  Yankee  who  had  no  axe  to  grind 
in  the  South  caused  the  people  to  appeal  to  him  in  a  pathetic 
way  that  touched  his  heart.  He  had  not  been  in 
town  two  weeks  before  he  was  on  good  terms  with  every 
youngster,  had  the  entree  to  every  home,  and  Ben  had 
taken  him,  protesting  vehemently,  to  see  every  pretty  girl 
there.  He  found  that,  in  spite  of  war  and  poverty,  trou 
bles  present,  and  troubles  to  come,  the  young  Southern 
woman  was  the  divinity  that  claimed  and  received  ^e 
chief  worship  of  man. 


Augustus  Caesar  211 

The  tremendous  earnestness  with  which  these  young 
sters  pursued  the  work  of  courting,  all  of  them  so  poor 
they  scarcely  had  enough  to  eat,  amazed  and  alarmed  him 
beyond  measure.  He  found  in  several  cases  as  many  as 
four  making  a  dead  set  for  one  girl,  as  if  heaven  and 
earth  depended  on  the  outcome,  while  the  girl  seemed  to 
receive  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course — her  just  tribute. 

Every  instinct  of  his  quiet  reserved  nature  revolted  at 
any  such  attempt  to  rush  his  cause  with  Margaret,  and  yet 
it  made  the  cold  chills  run  down  his  spine  to  see  that  Pres 
byterian  preacher  drive  his  buggy  up  to  the  hotel,  take  her 
to  ride,  and  stay  three  hours.  He  knew  where  they  had 
gone — to  Lover's  Leap  and  along  the  beautiful  road  which 
led  to  the  North  Carolina  line.  He  knew  the  way — Mar 
garet  had  showed  him.  This  road  was  the  Way  of  Ro 
mance.  Every  farm-house,  cabin,  and  shady  nook  along 
its  beaten  track  could  tell  its  tale  of  lovers  fleeing  from  the 
North  to  find  happiness  in  the  haven  of  matrimony  across 
the  line  in  South  Carolina.  Everything  seemed  to  favour 
marriage  in  this  climate.  The  State  required  no  license. 
A  legal  marriage  could  be  celebrated,  anywhere,  at  any 
time,  by  a  minister  in  the  presence  of  two  witnesses,  with 
or  without  the  consent  of  parent  or  guardian.  Marriage 
was  the  easiest  thing  in  the  state — divorce  the  one  thing 
impossible.  Death  alone  could  grant  divorce. 

He  was  now  past  all  reason  in  love.  He  followed  the 
movement  of  Margaret's  queenly  figure  with  pathetic 
abandonment.  Beneath  her  beautiful  manners  he  swore 
with  a  shiver  that  she  was  laughing  at  him.  Now  and 
then  he  caught  a  funny  expression  about  her  eyes,  as 


212  The  Clansman 

if  she  were  consumed  with  a  sly  sense  of  humour  in  her 
love-affairs. 

What  he  felt  to  be  his  manliest  traits,  his  reserve,  dig 
nity,  and  moral  earnestness,  she  must  think  cold  and  slow 
beside  the  dash,  fire,  and  assurance  of  these  Southerners. 
He  could  tell  by  the  way  she  encouraged  the  preacher 
before  his  eyes  that  she  was  criticising  and  daring  him 
to  let  go  for  once.  Instead  of  doing  it,  he  sank  back 
appalled  at  the  prospect  and  let  the  preacher  carry 
her  off  again. 

He  sought  solace  in  Dr.  Cameron,  who  was  utterly 
oblivious  of  his  daughter's  love-affairs. 

Phil  was  constantly  amazed  at  the  variety  of  his  knowl 
edge,  the  genuineness  of  his  culture,  his  modesty,  and  the 
note  of  youth  and  cheer  with  which  he  still  pursued  the 
study  of  medicine. 

His  company  was  refreshing  for  its  own  sake.  The 
slender  graceful  figure,  ruddy  face,  with  piercing,  dark- 
brown  eyes  in  startling  contrast  to  his  snow-white  hair 
and  beard,  had  for  Phil  a  perpetual  charm.  He  never  tired 
listening  to  his  talk,  and  noting  the  peculiar  grace  and 
dignity  with  which  he  carried  himself,  unconscious  of  the 
commanding  look  of  his  brilliant  eyes. 

"  I  hear  that  you  have  used  Hypnotism  in  your  practice, 
Doctor,"  Phil  said  to  him  one  day,  as  he  watched  with 
fascination  the  changing  play  of  his  mobile  features. 

"Oh,  yes!  used  it  for  years.  Southern  doctors  have 
always  been  pioneers  in  the  science  of  medicine.  Dr. 
Crawford  Long,  of  Georgia,  you  know,  was  the  first  prac 
titioner  in  America  to  apply  anesthesia  to  surgery." 


Augustus  Caesar  213 

"But  where  did  you  run  up  against  Hypnotism?  I 
thought  this  a  new  thing  under  the  sun  ?" 

The  doctor  laughed. 

"  It's  not  a  home  industry,  exactly.  I  became  interested 
in  it  in  Edinburgh  while  a  medical  student,  and  pursued  it 
with  increased  interest  in  Paris." 

VDid  you  study  medicine  abroad?"  Phil  asked  in 
surprise. 

"Yes;  I  was  poor,  but  I  managed  to  raise  and  to  borrow 
enough  to  take  three  years  on  the  other  side.  I  put  all  I 
had  and  all  my  credit  in  it.  I've  never  regretted  the 
sacrifice.  The  more  I  saw  of  the  great  world,  the  better 
I  liked  my  own  world.  I've  given  these  farmers  and  their 
families  the  best  God  gave  to  me." 

"Do  you  find  much  use  for  your  powers  of  hypnosis?" 
Phil  asked. 

"Only  in  an  experimental  way.  Naturally  I  am 
endowed  with  this  gift — especially  over  certain  classes 
who  are  easily  the  subjects  of  extreme  fear.  I  owned  a 
rascally  slave  named  Gus  whom  I  used  to  watch  stealing. 
Suddenly  confronting  him,  I've  thrown  him  into  uncon 
sciousness  with  a  steady  gaze  of  the  eye,  until  he  would 
drop  on  his  face,  trembling  like  a  leaf,  unable  to  speak 
until  I  allowed  him." 

"How  do  you  account  for  such  powers?" 

"I  don't  account  for  them  at  all.  They  belong  to  the 
world  of  spiritual  phenomena  of  which  we  know  so  little 
and  yet  which  touch  our  material  lives  at  a  thousand  points 
every  day.  How  do  we  account  for  sleep  and  dreams,  or 
second  sight,  or  the  day-dreams  which  we  call  visions  ?  " 


2i4  The  Clansman 

Phil  was  silent,  and  the  doctor  went  on  dreamily: 

"The  day  my  boy  Richard  was  killed  at  Gettysburg,  I 
saw  him  lying  dead  in  a  field  near  a  house.  I  saw  some 
soldiers  bury  him  in  the  corner  of  that  field,  and  then  an 
old  man  go  to  the  grave,  dig  up  his  body,  cart  it  away  into 
the  woods,  and  throw  it  into  a  ditch.  I  saw  it  before  I 
heard  of  the  battle  or  knew  that  he  was  in  it.  He  was 
reported  killed,  and  his  body  has  never  been  found.  It  is 
the  one  unspeakable  horror  of  the  war  to  me.  I'll  never 
get  over  it." 

"How  very  strange!"  exclaimed  Phil. 

"And  yet  the  war  was  nothing,  my  boy,  to  the  horrors  I 
feel  clutching  the  throat  of  the  South  to-day.  I'm  glad 
you  and  your  father  are  down  here.  Your  disinterested 
view  of  things  may  help  us  at  Washington  when  we  need 
it  most.  The  South  seems  to  have  no  friend  at  Court." 

"Your  younger  men,  I  find,  are  hopeful,  Doctor,"  said 
Phil. 

"Yes,  the  young  never  see  danger  until  it's  time  to  die. 
I'm  not  a  pessimist,  but  I  was  happier  in  jail.  Scores  of 
my  old  friends  have  given  up  in  despair  and  died.  Deli 
cate  and  cultured  women  are  living  on  cowpeas,  corn 
bread  and  molasses — and  of  such  quality  they  would  not 
have  fed  it  to  a  slave.  Children  go  to  bed  hungry.  Droves 
of  brutal  negroes  roam  at  large,  stealing,  murdering,  and 
threatening  blacker  crimes.  We  are  under  the  heel  of 
petty  military  tyrants,  few  of  whom  ever  smelled  gun 
powder  in  a  battle.  At  the  approaching  election,  not  a 
decent  white  man  in  this  county  can  take  the  infamous 
test-oath.  I  am  disfranchised  because  I  gave  a  cup  of 


Augustus  Caesar  215 

water  to  the  lips  of  one  of  my  dying  boys  on  the  battle-field. 
My  slaves  are  all  voters.  There  will  be  a  negro  majority 
of  more  than  one  hundred  thousand  in  this  state.  Des 
peradoes  are  here  teaching  these  negroes  insolence  and 
crime  in  their  secret  societies.  The  future  is  a  night 
mare." 

"You  have  my  sympathy,  sir,"  said  Phil,  warmly  ex 
tending  his  hand.  "These  Reconstruction  Acts,  con 
ceived  in  sin  and  brought  forth  in  iniquity,  can  bring  only 
shame  and  disgrace  until  the  last  trace  of  them  is  wiped 
from  our  laws.  I  hope  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  do  it  in 
blood." 

The  doctor  was  deeply  touched.  He  could  not  be  mis 
taken  in  the  genuineness  of  any  man's  feeling.  He  never 
dreamed  this  earnest  straightforward  Yankee  youngster 
was  hi  love  with  Margaret,  and  it  would  have  made  no 
difference  in  the  accuracy  of  his  judgment. 

"Your  sentiments  do  you  honour,  sir,"  he  said,  with 
grave  courtesy.  "And  you  honour  us  and  our  town  with 
your  presence  and  friendship." 

As  Phil  hurried  home  in  a  warm  glow  of  sympathy  for 
the  people  whose  hospitality  had  made  him  their  friend 
and  champion,  he  encountered  a  negro  trooper  standing 
on  the  corner,  watching  the  Cameron  house  with  furtive 
glance. 

Instinctively  he  stopped,  surveyed  the  man  from  head 
to  foot  and  asked: 

"What's  the  trouble?" 

"None  er  yo'  business,"  the  negro  answered,  slouching 
across  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  street, 


2ib  The  Clansman 

Phil  watched  him  with  disgust.  He  had  the  short, 
heavy-set  neck  of  the  lower  order  of  animals.  His  skin 
was  coal  black,  his  lips  so  thick  they  curled  both  ways  up 
and  down  with  crooked  blood-marks  across  them.  His 
nose  was  flat,  and  its  enormous  nostrils  seemed  in  per 
petual  dilation.  The  sinister  bead  eyes,  with  brown 
splotches  in  their  whites,  were  set  wide  apart  and  gleamed 
ape-like  under  his  scant  brows.  His  enormous  cheek 
bones  and  jaws  seemed  to  protrude  beyond  the  ears 
and  almost  hide  them. 

"That  we  should  send  such  soldiers  here  to  flaunt  our 
uniform  in  the  faces  of  these  people ! "  he  exclaimed,  with 
bitterness. 

He  met  Ben  hurrying  home  from  a  visit  to  Elsie.  The 
two  young  soldiers  whose  prejudices  had  melted  in  the 
white-heat  of  battle  had  become  fast  friends. 

Phil  laughed  and  winked: 

"I'll  meet  you  to-night  around  the  family  altar!'* 

When  he  reached  home,  Ben  saw,  slouching  in  front  of 
the  house,  walking  back  and  forth  and  glancing  furtively 
behind  him,  the  negro  trooper  whom  his  friend  had  passed. 

He  walked  quickly  in  front  of  him,  and,  blinking  his 
eyes  rapidly,  said: 

"Didn't  I  tell  you,  Gus,  not  to  let  me  catch  you  hanging 
around  this  house  again?" 

The  negro  drew  himself  up,  pulling  his  blue  uniform 
into  position  as  his  body  stretched  out  of  its  habitual 
slouch,  and  answered: 

"My  name  ain't  'Gus.'" 

Ben  gave  a  quick  little  chuckle  and  leaned  back 


Augustus  Caesar  217 

the  palings,  his  hand  resting  on  one  that  was  loose.  He 
glanced  at  the  negro  carelessly  and  said: 

"Well,  Augustus  Caesar,  I  give  your  majesty  thirty 
seconds  to  move  off  the  block." 

Gus'  first  impulse  was  to  run,  but  remembering  him 
self  he  threw  back  his  shoulders  and  said: 

"I  reckon  de  streets  is  free " 

"Yes,  and  so  is  kindling-wood!" 

Quick  as  a  flash  of  lightning  the  paling  suddenly  left 
the  fence  and  broke  three  times  in  such  bewildering  rapid 
ity  on  the  negro's  head  he  forgot  everything  he  ever  knew 
or  thought  he  knew  save  one  thing — the  way  to  run.  He 
didn't  fly,  but  he  made  remarkable  use  of  the  facilities 
with  which  he  had  been  endowed. 

Ben  watched  him  disappear  toward  the  camp. 

He  picked  up  the  pieces  of  paling,  pulled  a  strand  of 
black  wool  from  a  splinter,  looked  at  it  curiously  and  said : 

"A  sprig  of  his  majesty's  hair — I'll  doubtless  remember 
him  without  it  1" 


CHAPTER  IV 
AT  THE  POINT  OF  THE  BAYONET 

WITHIN  an  hour  from  Ben's  encounter,  he  was 
arrested  without  warrant  by  the  military  com 
mandant,  handcuffed,  and  placed  on  the  train 
for  Columbia,  more  than  a  hundred  miles  distant.  The 
first  purpose  of  sending  him  in  charge  of  a  negro  guard 
was  abandoned  for  fear  of  a  riot.  A  squad  of  white  troops 
accompanied  him. 

Elsie  was  waiting  at  the  gate,  watching  for  his  coming, 
her  heart  aglow  with  happiness. 

When  Marion  and  little  Hugh  ran  to  tell  the  exciting 
news,  she  thought  it  a  joke  and  refused  to  believe  it. 

"  Come,  dear,  don't  tease  me;  you  know  it's  not  true! " 

"I  wish  I  may  die  if  'taint  so!"  Hugh  solemnly  declared. 
"He  run  Gus  away  'cause  he  scared  Aunt  Margaret  so. 
They  come  and  put  handcuffs  on  him  and  took  him  to 
Columbia.  I  tell  you  Grandpa  and  Grandma  and  Aunt 
Margaret  are  mad!" 

Elsie  called  Phil  and  begged  him  to  see  what  had  hap 
pened. 

When  Phil  reported  Ben's  arrest  without  a  warrant,  and 
the  indignity  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  on  the 
amazing  charge  of  resisting  military  authority,  Elsie  hur 
ried  with  Marion  and  Hugh  to  the  hotel  to  express  her 

218 


At  the  Point  of  the  Bayonet  219 

indignation,  and  sent  Phil  to  Columbia  on  the  next  train 
to  fight  for  his  release. 

By  the  use  of  a  bribe  Phil  discovered  that  a  special 
inquisition  had  been  hastily  organised  to  procure  perjured 
testimony  against  Ben  on  the  charge  of  complicity  in 
the  murder  of  a  carpet-bag  adventurer  named  Ashburn, 
who  had  been  killed  at  Columbia  in  a  row  in  a  disrep 
utable  resort.  This  murder  had  occurred  the  week  Ben 
Cameron  was  in  Nashville.  The  enormous  reward  of 
$25,000  had  been  offered  for  the  conviction  of  any  man 
who  could  be  implicated  in  the  killing.  Scores  of  venal 
wretches,  eager  for  this  blood-money,  were  using  every 
device  of  military  tyranny  to  secure  evidence  on  which  to 
convict — no  matter  who  the  man  might  be.  Within  six 
hours  of  his  arrival  they  had  pounced  on  Ben. 

They  arrested  as  a  witness  an  old  negro  named  John 
Stapler,  noted  for  his  loyalty  to  the  Camerons.  The 
doctor  had  saved  his  life  once  in  a  dangerous  illness. 
They  were  going  to  put  him  to  torture  and  force  him  to 
swear  that  Ben  Cameron  had  tried  to  bribe  him  to  kill 
Ashburn.  General  Howie,  the  commandant  of  the  Col 
umbia  district,  was  in  Charleston  on  a  visit  to  headquarters. 

Phil  resorted  to  the  ruse  of  pretending,  as  a  Yankee,  the 
deepest  sympathy  for  Ashburn,  and  by  the  payment  of  a 
fee  of  twenty  dollars  to  the  Captain,  was  admitted  to  the 
fort  to  witness  the  torture. 

They  led  the  old  man  trembling  into  the  presence  of  the 
Captain,  who  sat  on  an  improvised  throne  in  full  uniform. 

"Have  you  ordered  a  barber  to  shave  this  man's  head  ?" 
sternly  asked  the  judge. 


220  The  Clansman 

"Please,  Marster,  fer  de  Lawd's  sake,  I  ain'  done 
nuttin' — doan'  shave  my  head.  Dat  ha'r  been  wropped 
lak  dat  fur  ten  year!  I  die  sho'  ef  I  lose  my  ha'r." 

"Bring  the  barber,  and  take  him  back  until  he  comes," 
was  the  order.  In  an  hour  they  led  him  again  into  the 
room,  blindfolded,  and  placed  him  in  a  chair. 

"Have  you  let  him  see  a  preacher  before  putting  him 
through  ?  "  the  Captain  asked.  "  I  have  an  order  from  the 
General  in  Charleston  to  put  him  through  to-day." 

"For  God's  sake,  Marster,  doan'  put  me  froo — I  ain't 
done  nuttin'  en  I  doan'  know  nuttin' ! " 

The  old  negro  slipped  to  his  knees,  trembling  from  head 
to  foot. 

The  guards  caught  him  by  the  shoulders  and  threw  him 
back  into  the  chair.  The  bandage  was  removed,  and  just 
in  front  of  him  stood  a  brass  cannon  pointed  at  his  head, 
a  soldier  beside  it  holding  the  string  ready  to  pull.  John 
threw  himself  backward,  yelling: 

"Goddermighty!" 

When  he  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  started  to  run, 
another  cannon  swung  on  him  from  the  rear.  He  dropped 
to  his  knees  and  began  to  pray: 

"  Yas,  Lawd,  I'se  er  comin'.  I  hain't  ready — but,  Lawd, 
I  got  ter  come!  Save  me!" 

"Shave  him!"  the  Captain  ordered. 

While  the  old  man  sat  moaning,  they  lathered  his  head 
with  two  scrubbing-brushes  and  shaved  it  clean. 

"Now  stand  him  up  by  the  wall  and  measure  him  for 
his  coffin,"  was  the  order. 

They  snatched  him  from  the  chair,  pushed  him  against 


At  the  Point  of  the  Bayonet  221 

the  wall,  and  measured  him.  While  they  were  taking  his 
measure,  the  man  next  to  him  whispered : 

"Now's  the  time  to  save  your  hide — tell  all  about  Ben 
Cameron  trying  to  hire  you  to  kill  Ashburn." 

"Give  him  a  few  minutes,"  said  the  Captain,  "and 
maybe  we  can  hear  what  Mr.  Cameron  said  about  Ash- 
burn." 

"I  doan'  know  nuttin',  General,"  pleaded  the  old 
darkey.  "I  ain't  heard  nuttin' — I  ain't  seed  Marse  Ben 
fer  two  monts." 

"You  needn't  lie  to  us.  The  rebels  have  been  posting 
you.  But  it's  no  use.  We'll  get  it  out  of  you." 

"W  Gawd,  Marster,  I'se  er  telling  de  truf!" 

"  Put  him  in  the  dark  cell  and  keep  him  there  the  balance 
of  his  life  unless  he  tells,"  was  the  order. 

At  the  end  of  four  days,  Phil  was  summoned  again  to 
witness  the  show. 

John  was  carried  to  another  part  of  the  fort  and  shown 
the  sweat-box. 

"Now  tell  all  you  know  or  in  you  go!"  said  his  tor 
mentor. 

The  negro  looked  at  the  engine  of  torture  in  abject  ter 
ror — a  closet  in  the  walls  of  the  fort  just  big  enough  to 
admit  the  body,  with  an  adjustable  top  to  press  down  too 
low  for  the  head  to  be  held  erect.  The  door  closed  tight 
against  the  breast  of  the  victim.  The  only  air  admitted 
was  through  an  auger-hole  in  the  door. 

The  old  man's  lips  moved  in  prayer. 

"Will  you  tell?"  growled  the  Captain. 

"I  cain't  tell  ye  nuttin'  'cept'n'  a  lie!"  he  moaned. 


222  The  Clansman 

They  thrust  him  in,  slammed  the  door,  and  in  a  loud 
voice  the  Captain  said: 

"Keep  him  there  for  thirty  days  unless  he  tells." 

He  was  left  in  the  agony  of  the  sweat-box  for  thirty-three 
hours  and  taken  out.  His  limbs  were  swollen,  and  when 
he  attempted  to  walk  he  tottered  and  fell. 

The  guard  jerked  him  to  his  feet,  and  the  Captain  said: 

"I'm  afraid  we've  taken  him  out  too  soon,  but  if  he 
don't  tell  he  can  go  back  and  finish  the  month  out." 

The  poor  old  negro  dropped  in  a  faint,  and  they  carried 
him  back  to  his  cell. 

Phil  determined  to  spare  no  means,  fair  or  foul,  to 
secure  Ben's  release  from  the  clutches  of  these  devils.  He 
had  as  yet  been  unable  to  locate  his  place  of  confinement. 

He  continued  his  ruse  of  friendly  curiosity,  kept  in  touch 
with  the  Captain,  and  the  Captain  in  touch  with  his 
pocket-book. 

Summoned  to  witness  another  interesting  ceremony,  he 
hurried  to  the  fort. 

The  officer  winked  at  him  confidentially,  and  took 
him  out  to  a  row  of  dungeons  built  of  logs  and  ceiled  inside 
with  heavy  boards.  A  single  pane  of  glass  about  eight 
inches  square  admitted  light  ten  feet  from  the  ground. 

There  was  a  commotion  inside,  curses,  groans  and  cries 
for  mercy  mingling  in  rapid  succession. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Phil. 

"Hell's  goin'  on  in  there!"  laughed  the  officer. 

"Evidently." 

A  heavy  crash,  as  though  a  ton-weight  had  struck  the 
floor,  and  then  all  was  still. 


At  the  Point  of  the  Bayonet  223 

"  By  George,  it's  too  bad  we  can't  see  it  all ! "  exclaimed 
the  officer. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  urged  Phil. 

Again  the  Captain  laughed  immoderately. 

"I've  got  a  blue-blood  in  there  taking  the  bluin*  out  of 
his  system.  He  gave  me  some  impudence.  I'm  teaching 
him  who's  running  this  country!" 

"  What  are  you  doing  to  him  ?  "  Phil  asked  with  a  sudden 
suspicion. 

"Oh,  just  having  a  little  fun!  I  put  two  big  white 
drunks  in  there  with  him — half-fighting  drunks,  you  know 
— and  told  them  to  work  on  his  teeth  and  manicure  his 
face  a  little  to  initiate  him  into  the  ranks  of  the  common 
people,  so  to  speak!" 

Again  he  laughed. 

Phil,  listening  at  the  keyhole,  held  up  his  hand: 

"Hush,  they're  talking " 

He  could  hear  Ben  Cameron's  voice  in  the  softest  drawl : 

"Say  it  again." 

"Please,  Marster!" 

"Now  both  together,  and  a  little  louder." 

"Please,  Marster!"  came  the  united  chorus. 

"Now  what  kind  of  a  dog  did  I  say  you  are  ?" 

"The  kind  as  comes  when  his  marster  calls." 

"  Both  together — the  under  dog  seems  to  have  too  much 
cover,  like  his  mouth  might  be  full  of  cotton." 

They  repeated  it  louder. 

"A  common — stump-tailed — cur-dog  ?  " 

"Yessir." 

"Say  it." 


224  The  Clansman 

"A  common — stump-tailed — cur-dog — Marster  I  * 

"A  pair  of  them." 

"A  pair  of  'em." 

"No,  the  whole  thing  —  all  together — 'we — are — a— 
pair!'" 

"Yes — Marster."    They  repeated  it  in  chorus. 

"With  apologies  to  the  dogs " 

"Apologies  to  the  dogs " 

"And  why  does  your  master  honour  the  kennel  with  his 
presence  to-day  ?  " 

"He  hit  a  nigger  on  the  head  so  hard  that  he  strained 
the  nigger's  ankle,  and  he's  restin'  from  his  labours.** 

"That's  right,  Towser.  If  I  had  you  and  Tige  a  few 
hours  every  day  I  could  make  good  squirrel-dogs  out  of 
you." 

There  was  a  pause.    Phil  looked  up  and  smiled. 

"What  does  it  sound  like?"  asked  the  Captain,  with  a 
shade  of  doubt  in  his  voice. 

"Sounds  to  me  like  a  Sunday-school  teacher  taking  his 
class  through  a  new  catechism." 

The  Captain  fumbled  hurriedly  for  his  keys. 

"There's  something  wrong  in  there." 

He  opened  the  door  and  sprang  in. 

Ben  Cameron  was  sitting  on  top  of  the  two  toughs, 
knocking  their  heads  together  as  they  repeated  each 
chorus. 

"Walk  in,  gentlemen.  The  show  is  going  on  now — the 
animals  are  doing  beautifully,"  said  Ben. 

The  Captain  muttered  an  oath.  Phil  suddenly  grasped 
him  by  the  throat,  hurled  him  against  the  wall,  and 
snatched  the  keys  from  his  hand. 


At  the  Point  of  the  Bayonet  225 

"Now  open  your  mouth,  you  white-livered  cur,  and 
inside  of  twenty-four  hours  I'll  have  you  behind  the  bars. 
I  have  all  the  evidence  I  need.  I'm  an  ex-officer  of  the 
United  States  Army,  of  the  fighting  corps — not  the  vulture 
division.  This  is  my  friend.  Accompany  us  to  the  street 
and  strike  your  charges  from  the  record." 

The  coward  did  as  he  was  ordered,  and  Ben  hurried 
back  to  Piedmont  with  a  friend  toward  whom  he  began 
to  feel  closer  than  a  brother. 

When  Elsie  heard  the  full  story  of  the  outrage,  she  bore 
herself  toward  Ben  with  unusual  tenderness,  and  yet  he 
knew  that  the  event  had  driven  their  lives  farther  apart. 
He  felt  instinctively  the  cold  silent  eye  of  her  father,  and 
his  pride  stiffened  under  it.  The  girl  had  never  consid 
ered  the  possibility  of  a  marriage  without  her  father's 
blessing.  Ben  Cameron  was  too  proud  to  ask  it.  He 
began  to  fear  that  the  differences  between  her  father  and 
his  people  reached  to  the  deepest  sources  of  life. 

Phil  found  himself  a  hero  at  the  Cameron  House.  Mar 
garet  said  little,  but  her  bearing  spoke  in  deeper  language 
than  words.  He  felt  it  would  be  mean  to  take  advantage 
of  her  gratitude. 

But  he  was  quick  to  respond  to  the  motherly  tenderness 
of  Mrs.  Cameron.  In  the  groups  of  neighbours  who 
gathered  in  the  evenings  to  discuss  with  the  doctor  the 
j  hopes,  fears,  and  sorrows  of  the  people,  Phil  was  a  charmed 
listener  to  the  most  brilliant  conversations  he  had  ever 
heard.  It  seemed  the  normal  expression  of  their  lives. 
He  had  never  before  seen  people  come  together  to  talk 
to  one  another  after  this  fashion.  More  and  more  the 


226  The  Clansman 

simplicity,  dignity,  patience,  courtesy,  and  sympathy  of 
these  people  in  their  bearing  toward  one  another  impressed 
him.  More  and  more  he  grew  to  like  them. 

Marion  went  out  of  her  way  to  express  her  open  admira 
tion  for  Phil  and  tease  him  about  Margaret.  The  Rev. 
Hugh  McAlpin  was  monopolising  her  on  the  Wednesday 
following  his  return  from  Columbia  and  Phil  sought 
Marion  for  sympathy. 

"What  will  you  give  me  if  I  tease  you  about  Margaret 
right  before  her?"  she  asked. 

He  blushed  furiously. 

"Don't  you  dare  such  a  thing  on  peril  of  your  life!" 

"You  know  you  like  to  be  teased  about  her/'  she  cried, 
her  blue  eyes  dancing  with  fun. 

"With  such  a  pretty  little  friend  to  do  the  teasing  all  by 
ourselves,  perhaps " 

"You'll  never  get  her  unless  you  have  more  spunk." 

"Then  I'll  find  consolation  with  you." 

"No,  I  mean  to  marry  young." 

"And  your  ideal  of  life?" 

"To  fill  the  world  with  flowers,  laughter,  and  music — 
especially  my  own  home — and  never  do  a  thing  I  can  make 
my  husband  do  for  me!  How  do  you  like  it  ?" 

"I  think  it  very  sweet,"  Phil  answered  soberly. 

At  noon  on  the  following  Friday,  the  Piedmont  Eagle 
appeared  with  an  editorial  signed  by  Dr.  Cameron,  de 
nouncing  in  the  fine  language  of  the  old  school  the  arrest 
of  Ben  as  "despotism  and  the  usurpation  of  authority." 

At  three  o'clock,  Captain  Gilbert,  in  command  of  the 
troops  stationed  in  the  village,  marched  a  squad  of  soldiers 


At  the  Point  of  the  Bayonet  227 

to  the  newspaper  office.     One  of  them  carried  a  sledge 
hammer.     In  ten  minutes  he  demolished  the  office,  heaped 
the  type  and  their  splintered  cases  on  top  of  the  battered 
press  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  set  fire  to  the  pile. 
On  the  court-house  door  he  nailed  this  proclamation: 

"  To  the  People  of  Ulster  County  : 

"The  censures  of  the  press,  directed  against  the  servants  of 
the  people,  may  be  endured;  but  the  military  force  in  com 
mand  of  this  district  are  not  the  servants  of  the  people  of 
South  Carolina.  WE  ARE  YOUR  MASTERS.  The  impertinence 
of  newspaper  comment  on  the  military  will  not  be  brooked 

UNDER   ANY   CIRCUMSTANCES    WHATEVER. 

"G.  C.  GILBERT, 

"Captain  in  Command." 

Not  content  with  this  display  of  power,  he  determined 
to  make  an  example  of  Dr.  Cameron,  as  the  leader  of 
public  opinion  in  the  county. 

He  ordered  a  squad  of  his  negro  troops  to  arrest  him 
immediately  and  take  him  to  Columbia  for  obstructing  the 
execution  of  the  Reconstruction  Acts.  He  placed  the 
squad  under  command  of  Gus,  whom  he  promoted  to  be  a 
corporal,  with  instructions  to  wait  until  the  doctor  was 
inside  his  house,  boldly  enter  it  and  arrest  him. 

When  Gus  marched  his  black  janizaries  into  the  house, 
no  one  was  in  the  office.  Margaret  had  gone  for  a  ride 
with  Phil,  and  Ben  had  strolled  with  Elsie  to  Lover's 
Leap,  unconscious  of  the  excitement  in  town. 

Dr.  Cameron  himself  had  heard  nothing  of  it,  having 
just  reached  home  from  a  visit  to  a  country  patient. 

Gus  stationed  his  men  at  each  door,  and  with  another 


228  The  Clansman 

trooper  walked  straight  into  Mrs.  Cameron's  bedroom, 
where  the  doctor  was  resting  on  a  lounge. 

Had  an  imp  of  perdition  suddenly  sprung  through  the 
floor,  the  master  of  the  house  of  Cameron  would  not  have 
been  more  enraged  or  surprised. 

A  sudden  leap,  as  the  spring  of  a  panther,  and  he  stood 
before  his  former  slave,  his  slender  frame  erect,  his  face 
a  livid  spot  in  its  snow-white  hair,  his  brilliant  eyes 
flashing  with  fury. 

Gus  suddenly  lost  control  of  his  knees. 

His  old  master  transfixed  him  with  his  eyes,  and  in  a 
Voice,  whose  tones  gripped  him  by  the  throat,  said: 

"How  dare  you?" 

The  gun  fell  from  the  negro's  hand,  and  he  dropped  to 
the  floor  on  his  face. 

His  companion  uttered  a  yell  and  sprang  through  the 
door,  rallying  the  men  as  he  went: 

"Fall  back!  Fall  back!  He's  killed  Gus!  Shot  him 
dead  wid  his  eye.  He's  conjured  him!  Git  de  whole 
army  quick." 

They  fled  to  the  Commandant. 

Gilbert  ordered  the  negroes  to  then*  tents  and  led  his 
whole  company  of  white  regulars  to  the  hotel,  arrested 
Dr.  Cameron,  and  rescued  his  fainting  trooper,  who  had 
been  revived  and  placed  under  a  tree  on  the  lawn. 

The  little  Captain  had  a  wicked  look  on  his  face.     He 

refused  to  allow  the    doctor  a  moment's  delay  to  leave 

J  instructions  for  his  wife,  who  had  gone  to  visit  a  neighbour. 

He  was  placed  in  the  guard-house,  and  a  detail  of  twenty 

soldiers  stationed  around  it. 


At  the  Point  of  the  Bayonet  j  229 


The  arrest  was  made  so  quickly,  not  a  dozen  people  in 
town  had  heard  of  it.  As  fast  as  it  was  known,  people 
poured  into  the  house,  one  by  one,  to  express  their  sym 
pathy.  But  a  greater  surprise  awaited  them. 

Within  thirty  minutes  after  he  had  been  placed  in 
prison,  a  Lieutenant  entered,  accompanied  by  a  soldier 
and  a  negro  blacksmith  who  carried  in  his  hand  two  big 
chains  with  shackles  on  each  end. 

The  doctor  gazed  at  the  intruders  a  moment  with  in 
credulity,  and  then,  as  the  enormity  of  the  outrage  dawned 
on  him,  he  flushed  and  drew  himself  erect,  his  face  livid 
and  rigid. 

He  clutched  his  throat  with  his  slender  fingers,  slowly 
recovered  himself,  glanced  at  the  shackles  in  the  black 
hands  and  then  at  the  young  Lieutenant's  face,  and  said 
slowly,  with  heaving  breast: 

"My  God!  Have  you  been  sent  to  place  these  irons 
on  me?" 

"Such  are  my  orders,  sir,"  replied  the  officer,  motioning 
to  the  negro  smith  to  approach.  He  stepped  forward, 
unlocked  the  padlock  and  prepared  the  fetters  to  be 
placed  on  his  arms  and  legs.  These  fetters  were  of 
enormous  weight,  made  of  iron  rods  three-quarters 
of  an  inch  thick  and  connected  together  by  chains 
of  like  weight. 

"This  is  monstrous!"  groaned  the  doctor,  with  choking 
agony,  glancing  helplessly  about  the  bare  cell  for  some 
weapon  with  which  to  defend  himself. 

Suddenly,  looking  the  Lieutenant  in  the  face,  he  said : 

"I  demand,  sir,  to  see  your  commanding  officer.     He 


230  The  Clansman 

cannot  pretend  that  these  shackles  are  needed  to  hold  a 
weak  unarmed  .man  in  prison,  guarded  by  two  hundred 
soldiers?" 

"It  is  useless.     I  have  his  orders  direct." 

"But  I  must  see  him.  No  such  outrage  has  ever  been 
recorded  in  the  history  of  the  American  people.  I  ap 
peal  to  the  Magna  Charta  rights  of  every  man  who  speaks 
the  English  tongue — no  man  shall  be  arrested  or  im 
prisoned  or  deprived  of  his  own  household,  or  of  his  lib 
erties,  unless  by  the  legal  judgment  of  his  peers  or  by  the 
law  of  the  landl" 

"The  bayonet  is  your  only  law.  My  orders  admit  of 
no  delay.  For  your  own  sake,  I  advise  you  to  submit. 
As  a  soldier,  Dr.  Cameron,  you  know  I  must  execute 
orders." 

"These  are  not  the  orders  of  a  soldier!"  shouted  the 
prisoner,  enraged  beyond  all  control.  "They  are  orders 
for  a  jailer,  a  hangman,  a  scullion — no  soldier  who  wears 
the  sword  of  a  civilised  nation  can  take  such  orders.  The 
war  is  over;  the  South  is  conquered;  I  have  no  country 
save  America.  For  the  honour  of  the  flag,  for  which  I 
once  poured  out  my  blood  on  the  heights  of  Buena  Vista, 
I  protest  against  this  shame!" 

The  Lieutenant  fell  back  a  moment  before  the  burst  of 
his  anger. 

"Kill  me!  Kill  me!"  he  went  on,  passionately  throw 
ing  his  arms  wide  open  and  exposing  his  breast.  "Kill — 
I  am  in  your  power.  I  have  no  desire  to  live  under  such 
conditions.  Kill,  but  you  must  not  inflict  on  me  and  on 
my  people  this  insult  worse  than  death!" 


At  the  Point  of  the  Bayonet  231 

"Do  your  duty,  blacksmith,"  said  the  officer,  turning 
his  back  and  walking  toward  the  door. 

The  negro  advanced  with  the  chains  cautiously,  and 
attempted  to  snap  one  of  the  shackles  on  the  doctor's 
right  arm. 

With  sudden  maniac  frenzy,  Dr.  Cameron  seized  the 
negro  by  the  throat,  hurled  him  to  the  floor,  and  backed 
against  the  wall. 

The  Lieutenant  approached  and  remonstrated: 

"Why  compel  me  to  add  the  indignity  of  personal  vio 
lence?  You  must  submit." 

"I  am  your  prisoner,"  fiercely  retorted  the  doctor. 
"I  have  been  a  soldier  in  the  armies  of  America,  and  I 
know  how  to  die.  Kill  me,  and  my  last  breath  will  be  a 
blessing.  But  while  I  have  life  to  resist,  for  myself  and 
for  my  people,  this  thing  shall  not  be  done!" 

The  Lieutenant  called  a  sergeant  and  a  file  of  soldiers, 
and  the  sergeant  stepped  forward  to  seize  the  prisoner. 

Dr.  Cameron  sprang  on  him  with  the  ferocity  of  a 
tiger,  seized  his  musket,  and  attempted  to  wrench  it  from 
his  grasp. 

The  men  closed  in  on  him.  A  short  passionate  fight, 
and  the  slender,  proud,  gray-haired  man  lay  panting  on 
the  floor. 

Four  powerful  assailants  held  his  hands  and  feet,  and 
the  negro  smith,  with  a  grin,  secured  the  rivet  on  the 
right  ankle  and  turned  the  key  in  the  padlock  on  the  left. 

As  he  drove  the  rivet  into  the  shackle  on  his  left  arm, 
a  spurt  of  bruised  blood  from  the  old  Mexican  War  wound 
stained  the  iron. 


232  The  Clansman 

Dr.  Cameron  lay  for  a  moment  in  a  stupor.  At  length 
he  slowly  rose.  The  clank  of  the  heavy  chains  seemed 
to  choke  him  with  horror.  He  sank  on  the  floor,  cover 
ing  his  face  with  his  hands  and  groaned: 

"The  shame!  The  shame!  O  God,  that  I  might  have 
died!  My  poor,  poor  wife!" 

Captain  Gilbert  entered  and  said  with  a  sneer: 

"I  will  take  you  now  to  see  your  wife  and  friends  if 
you  would  like  to  call  before  setting  out  for  Columbia." 

The  doctor  paid  no  attention  to  him. 

"Will  you  follow  me  while  I  lead  you  through  this  town, 
to  show  them  their  chief  has  fallen,  or  will  you  force  me 
]to  drag  you?" 

Receiving  no  answer,  he  roughly  drew  the  doctor  to 
his  feet,  held  him  by  the  arm,  and  led  him  thus  in  half- 
unconscious  stupor  through  the  principal  street,  followed 
by  a  drove  of  negroes.  He  ordered  a  squad  of  troops  to 
meet  him  at  the  depot.  Not  a  white  man  appeared  on 
the  streets.  When  one  saw  the  sight  and  heard  the  clank 
of  those  chains,  there  was  a  sudden  tightening  of  the  lip,  a 
clinched  fist,  and  an  averted  face. 

When  they  approached  the  hotel,  Mrs.  Cameron  ran  to 
meet  him,  her  face  white  as  death. 

In  silence  she  kissed  his  lips,  kissed  each  shackle  on 
his  wrists,  took  her  handkerchief  and  wiped  the  bruised 
blood  from  the  old  wound  on  his  arm  the  iron  had  opened 
afresh,  and  then  with  a  look,  beneath  which  the  Captain 
shrank,  she  said  in  low  tones: 

"  Do  your  work  quickly.  You  have  but  a  few  moments 
to  get  out  of  this  town  with  your  prisoner.  I  have  sent 


At  the  Point  of  the  Bayonet  233; 

a  friend  to  hold  my  son.  If  he  comes  before  you  go,  he 
will  kill  you  on  sight  as  he  would  a  mad  dog." 

With  a  sneer,  the  Captain  passed  the  hotel  and  led  the? 
doctor,  still  in  half-unconscious  stupor,  toward  the  depot 
down  past  his  old  slave-quarters.  He  had  given  his 
negroes  who  remained  faithful  each  a  cabin  and  a  lot. 

They  looked  on  in  awed  silence  as  the  Captain  pro 
claimed  : 

"Fellow  citizens,  you  are  the  equal  of  any  white  man 
who  walks  the  ground.  The  white  man's  day  is  done. 
Your  turn  has  come." 

As  he  passed  Jake's  cabin,  the  doctor's  faithful  man 
stepped  suddenly  in  front  of  him,  looking  at  the  Captain 
out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  and  asked: 

"Is  I  yo'  equal?" 

"Yes." 

"Des  lak  any  white  man?" 

"Exactly." 

The  negro's  fist  suddenly  shot  into  Gilbert's  nose  with 
the  crack  of  a  sledge-hammer,  laying  him  stunned  on  the 
pavement. 

"Den  take  dat  f'um  yo'  equal,  d — m  you!"  he  cried, 
bending  over  his  prostrate  figure.  "  I'll  show  you  how  to 
treat  my  ole  marster,  you  low-down  slue-footed  devil!" 

The  stirring  little  drama  roused  the  doctor,  and  he 
turned  to  his  servant  with  his  old-time  courtesy,  and  said : 

"Thank  you,  Jake." 

"Come  in  here,  Marse  Richard;  I  knock  dem  things 
off'n  you  in  er  minute,  'en  I  get  you  outen  dis  town  in  er 
jiffy." 


234  The  Clansman 

"  No,  Jake,  that  is  not  my  way;  bring  this  gentleman 
some  water,  and  then  my  horse  and  buggy.  You  can 
take  me  to  the  depot.  This  officer  can  follow  with  his 
men."  And  he  did. 


CHAPTER  V 
FORTY  ACRES  AND  A  MULE 

WHEN  Phil  returned  with  Margaret,  he  drove,  at 
Mrs.  Cameron's  request,  to  find  Ben,  brought 
him  with  all  speed  to  the  hotel,  took  him  to  his 
room,  and  locked  the  door  before  he  told  him  the  news. 
After  an  hour's  blind  rage,  he  agreed  to  obey  his  father's 
positive  orders  to  keep  away  from  the  Captain  until  his 
return,  and  to  attempt  no  violence  against  the  authorities. 
Phil  undertook  to  manage  the  case  in  Columbia,  and 
spent  three  days  in  collecting  his  evidence  before  leaving. 

Swifter  feet  had  anticipated  him.  Two  dap  after  the 
arrival  of  Dr.  Cameron  at  the  fort  in  Columbia,  a  dust- 
stained,  tired  negro  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of 
General  Howie. 

He  looked  about  timidly  and  laughed  loudly. 

"Well,  my  man,  what's  the  trouble?  You  seem  to 
have  walked  all  the  way,  and  laugh  as  if  you  were  glad 
of  it." 

"I  'spec'  I  is,  sah,"  said  Jake,  sidling  up  confidentially. 

"Well?"  said  Howie,  good-humouredly. 

Jake's  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper. 

"I  hears  you  got  my  ole  marster,  Dr.  Cameron,  in  dis 
place." 

"Yes.     What  do  you  know  against  him?" 

235 


236  The  Clansman 

"Nuttin',  sah.  I  dis  hurry  'long  down  ter  take  his 
place,  so's  you  kin  sen'  him  back  home.  He's  erbleeged 
ter  go.  Dey's  er  pow'ful  lot  er  sick  folks  up  dar  in  de 
county  can't  git  'long  widout  him,  en  er  pow'ful  lot  er  well 
ones  gwiner  be  raisin'  de  debbel  'bout  dis.  You  can  hoi' 
me,  sah.  Des  tell  my  ole  marster  when  ter  be  yere,  en 
he  sho'  come." 

Jake  paused  and  bowed  low. 

"Yessah,  hit's  des  lak  I  tell  you.  Fuddermo',  I  'spec' 
I'se  de  man  what  done  de  damages.  I  'spec'  I  bus'  de 
Capt'n's  nose  so  'taint  gwine  be  no  mo'  good  to  'im." 

Howie  questioned  Jake  as  to  the  whole  affair,  asked 
him  a  hundred  questions  about  the  condition  of  the  county, 
the  position  of  Dr.  Cameron,  and  the  possible  effect  of 
this  event  on  the  temper  of  the  people. 

The  affair  had  already  given  him  a  bad  hour.  The 
news  of  this  shackling  of  one  of  the  most  prominent  men 
in  the  state  had  spread  like  wildfire,  and  had  caused  the 
first  deep  growl  of  anger  from  the  people.  He  saw  that 
it  was  a  senseless  piece  of  stupidity.  The  election  was 
rapidly  approaching.  He  was  master  of  the  state,  and 
the  less  friction  the  better.  His  mind  was  made  up  in 
stantly.  He  released  Dr.  Cameron  with  an  apology,  and 
returned  with  him  and  Jake  for  a  personal  inspection  of 
the  affairs  of  Ulster  county. 

In  a  thirty-minutes'  interview  with  Captain  Gilbert, 
Howie  gave  him  more  pain  than  his  broken  nose. 

"And  why  did  you  nail  up  the  doors  of  that  Presby 
terian  church?"  he  asked,  suavely. 

"Because  McAlpin,  the  young  cub  who  preaches  there, 


Forty  Acres  and  a  Mule  237 

dared  come  to  this  camp  and  insult  me  about  the  arrest 
of  old  Cameron." 

"I  suppose  you  issued  an  order  silencing  him  from  the 
ministry  ?  " 

"I  did,  and  told  him  I'd  shackle  him  if  he  opened  his 
mouth  again." 

"Good.  The  throne  of  Russia  needn't  worry  about  a 
worthy  successor.  Any  further  ecclesiastical  orders  ?  " 

"None,  except  the  oaths  I've  prescribed  for  them  be 
fore  they  shall  preach  again." 

"Fine!  These  Scotch  Covenanters  will  feel  at  home 
with  you." 

"Well,  I've  made  them  bite  the  dust — and  they  know 
who's  runnin'  this  town,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

"No  doubt.  Yet  we  may  have  too  much  of  even  a 
good  thing.  The  League  is  here  to  run  this  county. 
The  business  of  the  military  is  to  keep  still  and  back  them 
when  they  need  it." 

"We've  the  strongest  council  here  to  be  found  in  any 
county  in  this  section,"  said  Gilbert  with  pride. 

"Just  so.  The  League  meets  once  a  week.  We  have 
promised  them  the  land  of  their  masters  and  equal  social 
and  political  rights.  Their  members  go  armed  to  these 
meetings  and  drill  on  Saturdays  in  the  public  square. 
The  white  man  is  afraid  to  interfere  lest  his  house  or 
barn  take  fire.  A  negro  prisoner  in  the  dock  needs  only 
to  make  the  sign  to  be  acquitted.  Not  a  negro  will  dare 
to  vote  against  us.  Their  women  are  formed  into  societies, 
sworn  to  leave  their  husbands  and  refuse  to  marry  any 
man  who  dares  our  anger.  The  negro  churches  have 


238  The  Clansman 

pledged  themselves  to  expel  him  from  their  member 
ship.  What  more  do  you  want?" 

"There's  another  side  to  it,"  protested  the  Captain. 
"Since  the  League  has  taken  in  the  negroes,  every  Union 
white  man  has  dropped  it  like  a  hot  iron,  except  the  lone 
scalawag  or  carpet-bagger  who  expects  an  office.  In  the 
church,  the  social  circle,  in  business  or  pleasure,  these 
men  are  lepers.  How  can  a  human  being  stand  it  ?  I've 
tried  to  grind  this  hellish  spirit  in  the  dirt  under  my 
heel,  and  unless  you  can  do  it  they'll  beat  you  in  the 
long  run!  You've  got  to  have  some  Southern  white 
men  or  you're  lost." 

"I'll  risk  it  with  a  hundred  thousand  negro  majority," 
said  Howie  with  a  sneer.  "The  fun  will  just  begin  then. 
In  the  meantime,  I'll  have  you  ease  up  on  this  county's 
government.  I've  brought  that  man  back  who  knocked 
you  down.  Let  him  alone.  I've  pardoned  him.  The 
less  said  about  this  affair,  the  better." 

As  the  day  of  the  election  under  the  new  regime  of 
Reconstruction  drew  near,  the  negroes  were  excited  by 
rumours  of  the  coming  great  events.  Every  man  was  to 
receive  forty  acres  of  land  for  his  vote,  and  the  enthusias 
tic  speakers  and  teachers  had  made  the  dream  a  resistless 
one  by  declaring  that  the  Government  would  throw  in  a 
mule  with  the  forty  acres.  Some  who  had  hesitated 
about  the  forty  acres  of  land,  remembering  that  it  must  be 
worked,  couldn't  resist  the  idea  of  owning  a  mule. 

The  Freedman's  Bureau  reaped  a  harvest  in  $2  mar 
riage  fees  from  negroes  who  were  urged  thus  to  make 


Forty  Acres  and  a  Mule  239 

their  children  heirs  of  landed  estates  stocked  with 
mules. 

Every  stranger  who  appeared  in  the  village  was  regarded 
with  awe  as  a  possible  surveyor  sent  from  Washington  to 
run  the  lines  of  these  forty-acre  plots. 

And  in  due  time  the  surveyors  appeared.  Uncle  Aleck, 
who  now  devoted  his  entire  time  to  organising  the  League, 
and  drinking  whiskey  which  the  dues  he  collected  made 
easy,  was  walking  back  to  Piedmont  from  a  League  meet 
ing  in  the  country,  dreaming  of  this  promised  land. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  dusty  way  and  saw  before 
him  two  surveyors  with  their  arms  full  of  line  stakes 
painted  red,  white,  and  blue.  They  were  well-dressed 
Yankees — he  could  not  be  mistaken.  Not  a  doubt  dis 
turbed  his  mind.  The  kingdom  of  heaven  was  at  hand! 

He  bowed  low  and  cried: 

"Praise  de  Lawd!  De  messengers  is  come!  I'se 
waited  long,  but  I  sees  'em  now  wid  my  own  eyes!" 

"You  can  bet  your  life  on  that,  old  pard,"  said  the 
spokesman  of  the  pair.  "  We  go  two  anr»  two,  just  as  the 
apostles  did  in  the  olden  times.  VVe  have  only  a  few  left. 
The  boys  are  hurrying  to  get  their  homes.  All  you've  got 
to  do  is  to  drive  one  of  these  red,  white,  and  blue  stakes 
down  at  each  corner  of  the  forty  acres  of  land  you  want, 
and  every  rebel  in  the  infernal  regions  can't  pull  it  up." 

"Hear  dat  now!" 

"Just  like  I  tell  you.  When  this  stake  goes  into  the 
ground,  it's  like  planting  a  thousand  cannon  at  each 
corner." 

"En  will  the  Lawd's  messengers  come  wid  me  right 


240  The  Clansman 

now  to  de  bend  er  de  creek  whar  I  done  pick  out  my 
forty  acres?" 

"We  will,  if  you  have  the  needful  for  the  ceremony. 
The  fee  for  the  surveyor  is  small — only  two  dollars  for 
each  stake.  We  have  no  time  to  linger  with  foolish 
virgins  who  have  no  oil  in  their  lamps.  The  bride 
groom  has  come.  They  who  have  no  oil  must  remain  ' 
in  outer  darkness."  The  speaker  had  evidently  been 
a  preacher  in  the  North,  and  his  sacred  accent  sealed  his 
authority  with  the  old  negro,  who  had  been  an  exhorter 
himself. 

Aleck  felt  in  his  pocket  the  jingle  of  twenty  gold  dollars, 
the  initiation  fees  of  the  week's  harvest  of  the  League.  He 
drew  them,  counted  out  eight,  and  took  his  four  stakes. 
The  surveyors  kindly  showed  him  how  to  drive  them  down 
firmly  to  the  first  stripe  of  blue.  When  they  had  stepped 
off  a  square  of  about  forty  acres  of  the  Lenoir  farm,  includ 
ing  the  richest  piece  of  bottom  land  on  the  creek,  which 
Aleck's  children  under  his  wife's  direction  were  working 
for  Mrs.  Lfnoir,  and  the  four  stakes  were  planted,  old 
Aleck  shouted: 

" Glory  ter  God!" 

*  "Now,"  said  the  foremost  surveyor,  "you  want  a  deed 
— a  deed  in  fee  simple  with  the  big  seal  of  the  Government 
on  it,  and  you're  fixed  for  life.  The  deed  you  can  take  to 
the  court-house  and  make  the  clerk  record  it." 

The  man  drew  from  his  pocket  an  official-looking  paper, 
with  a  red  circular  seal  pasted  on  its  face. 

Uncle  Aleck's  eyes  danced. 

"Is  dat  de  deed?" 


Forty  Acres  and  a  Mule  241 

"It  will  be  if  I  write  your  name  on  it  and  describe  the 
land." 

"En  what's  de  fee  fer  dat?" 

"Only  twelve  dollars;  you  can  take  it  now  or  wait  until 
we  come  again.  There's  no  particular  hurry  about  this. 
The  wise  man,  though,  leaves  nothing  for  to-morrow  that 
he  can  carry  with  him  to-day." 

"I  takes  de  deed  right  now,  gemmen,"  said  Aleck, 
eagerly  counting  out  the  remaining  twelve  dollars.  "Fix 
'im  up  for  me." 

The  surveyor  squatted  in  the  field  and  carefully  wrote 
the  document. 

They  went  on  their  way  rejoicing,  and  old  Aleck  hurried 
into  Piedmont  with  the  consciousness  of  lordship  of  the 
soil.  He  held  himself  so  proudly  that  it  seemed  to 
straighten  some  of  the  crook  out  of  his  bow  legs. 

He  marched  up  to  the  hotel  where  Margaret  sat  reading 
and  Marion  was  on  the  steps  playing  with  a  setter. 

"Why,  Uncle  Aleck!"  Marion  exclaimed,  "I  haven't 
seen  you  in  a  long  time." 

Aleck  drew  himself  to  his  full  height — at  least,  as  full 
as  his  bow  legs  would  permit,  and  said  gruffly : 

"Miss  Ma'ian,  I  axes  you  to  stop  callin'  me  'uncle';  my 
name  is  Mr.  Alexander  Lenoir " 

"Until  Aunt  Cindy  gets  after  you,"  laughed  the  girl. 
"Then  it's  much  shorter  than  that,  Uncle  Aleck." 

He  shuffled  his  feet  and  looked  out  at  the  square  uncon 
cernedly. 

"Yaas'm,  dat's  what  fetch  me  here  now.  I  comes  ter 
tell  yer  Ma  ter  tell  dat  'oman  Cindy  ter  take  her  chillun  off 


242  The  Clansman 


my  farm.  I  gwine  'low  no  mo'  rent-payin'  ter  nobody  off  n 
my  Ian'!" 

"Your  land,  Uncle  Aleck?  When  did  you  get  it?" 
asked  Marion,  placing  her  cheek  against  the  setter. 

"De  Gubment  gim  it  ter  me  to-day,"  he  replied,  fum 
bling  in  his  pocket  and  pulling  out  the  document.  "  You 
kin  read  it  all  dar  yo'sef." 

He  handed  Marion  the  paper,  and  Margaret  hurried 
down  and  read  it  over  her  shoulder. 

Both  girls  broke  into  screams  of  laughter. 

Aleck  looked  up  sharply. 

"Do  you  know  what's  written  on  this  paper,  Uncle 
Aleck?"  Margaret  asked. 

"Cose  I  do.  Dat's  de  deed  ter  my  farm  er  forty  acres 
in  de  bend  er  de  creek,  whar  I  done  stuck  off  wid  de  red, 
white,  an'  blue  sticks  de  Gubment  gimme." 

"I'll  read  it  to  you,"  said  Margaret. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  interrupted  Marion.  "I  want  Aunt 
Cindy  to  hear  it — she's  here  to  see  Mama  in  the  kitchen 
now." 

She  ran  for  Uncle  Aleck's  spouse.  Aunt  Cindy  walked 
around  the  house  and  stood  by  the  steps,  eyeing  her  erst 
while  lord  with  contempt. 

"  Got  yer  deed,  is  yer,  ter  stop  me  payin'  my  missy  her 
rent  fum  de  Ian'  my  chillun  wucks  ?  Yu'se  er  smart  boy, 
you  is — let's  hear  de  deed ! " 

Aleck  edged  away  a  little,  and  said  with  a  bow: 

"Dar's  de  paper  wid  de  big  mark  er  de  Gubment." 

Aunt  Cindy  sniffed  the  air  contemptuously. 

"What  is  it,  honey?"  she  asked  of  Margaret. 


Forty  Acres  and  a  Mule  243 

Margaret  read  in  mock  solemnity  the  mystic  writing  on 
the  deed: 

"  To  Whom  It  May  Concern : 

"As  Moses  lifted  up  the  brazen  serpent  in  the  wilderness 
for  the  enlightenment  of  the  people,  even  so  have  I  lifted 
twenty  shining  plunks  out  of  this  benighted  nigger!  Selah!  " 

As  Uncle  Aleck  walked  away  with  Aunt  Cindy  shouting 
in  derision,  "Dar,  now!  Dar,  now!"  the  bow  in  his  legs 
seemed  to  have  sprung  a  sharper  curve. 


CHAPTER  VI 
A  WHISPER  IN  THE  CROWD 

THE  excitement  which    preceeded   the  first  Recon 
struction    election    in   the  South   paralysed   the 
industries  of  the  country.     When    demagogues 
poured  down  from  the  North  and  began  their  raving 
before   crowds   of   ignorant   negroes,   the   plow  stopped 
in  the  furrow,  the  hoe  was  dropped,  and  the  millenium 
was  at  hand. 

Negro  tenants,  working  under  contracts  issued  by  the 
Freedman's  Bureau,  stopped  work,  and  rode  their  land 
lords'  mules  and  horses  around  the  county,  following  these 
orators. 

The  loss  to  the  cotton  crop  alone  from  the  abandonment 
of  the  growing  plant  was  estimated  at  over  $60,000,000. 

The  one  thing  that  saved  the  situation  from  despair 
was  the  large  grain  and  forage  crops  of  the  previous  season 
which  thrifty  farmers  had  stored  in  their  barns.  So  im 
portant  was  the  barn  and  its  precious  contents  that  Dr. 
Cameron  hired  Jake  to  sleep  in  his. 

This  immense  barn,  which  was  situated  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill  some  two  hundred  yards  behind  the  house,  had  become 
a  favourite  haunt  of  Marion  and  Hugh.  She  had  made  a 
pet  of  the  beautiful  thoroughbred  mare  which  had  belonged 
to  Ben  during  the  war.  Marion  went  every  day  to  give 

244 


A  Whisper  in  the  Crowd  245 

her  an  apple  or  lump  of  sugar,  or  carry  her  a  bunch  of 
clover.  The  mare  would  follow  her  about  like  a  cat. 

Another  attraction  at  the  barn  for  them  was  Becky 
Sharpe,  Ben's  setter.  She  came  to  Marion  one  morning 
wagging  her  tail,  seized  her  dress,  and  led  her  into  an 
empty  stall,  where  beneath  the  trough  lay  sleeping  snugly 
ten  little  white-and-black  spotted  puppies. 

The  girl  had  never  seen  such  a  sight  before  and  went 
into  ecstasies.  Becky  wagged  her  tail  with  pride  at  her 
compliments.  Every  morning  she  would  pull  her  gently 
into  the  stall  just  to  hear  her  talk  and  laugh  and  pet  her 
babies. 

Whatever  election  day  meant  to  the  men,  to  Marion  it 
was  one  of  unalloyed  happiness:  she  was  to  ride  horse 
back  alone  and  dance  at  her  first  ball.  Ben  had  taught 
her  to  ride,  and  told  her  she  could  take  Queen  to  Lover's 
Leap  and  back  alone.  Trembling  with  joy,  her  beautiful 
face  wreathed  in  smiles,  she  led  the  mare  to  the  pond  in  the 
edge  of  the  lot  and  watched  her  drink  its  pure  spring 
water. 

When  he  helped  her  to  mount  in  front  of  the  hotel 
under  her  mother's  gaze,  and  saw  her  ride  out  of  the 
gate,  with  the  exquisite  lines  of  her  little  figure  melting 
into  the  graceful  lines  of  the  mare's  glistening  form,  he 
exclaimed : 

"  I  declare,  I  don't  know  which  is  the  prettier,  Marion 
or  Queen!" 

"I  know/'  was  the  mother's  soft  answer. 

"They  are  both  thoroughbreds,"  said  Ben,  watching 
them  admiringly. 


246  The  Clansman 

"Wait  till  you  see  her  to-night  in  her  first  ball-dress," 
whispered  Mrs.  Lenoir. 

At  noon  Ben  and  Phil  strolled  to  the  polling-place  to 
watch  the  progress  of  the  first  election  under  Negro  rule. 
The  Square  was  jammed  with  shouting,  jostling,  per 
spiring  negroes,  men,  women,  and  children.  The  day 
was  warm,  and  the  African  odour  was  supreme  even  in 
the  open  air. 

A  crowd  of  two  hundred  were  packed  around  a  peddler's 
box.  There  were  two  of  them — one  crying  the  wares,  and 
the  other  wrapping  and  delivering  the  goods.  They  were 
selling  a  new  patent  poison  for  rats. 

"I've  only  a  few  more  bottles  left  now,  gentlemen,"  he 
shouted,  "and  the  polls  will  close  at  sundown.  A  great 
•day  for  our  brother  in  black.  Two  years  of  army 
rations  from  the  Freedman's  Bureau,  with  old  army 
clothes  thrown  in,  and  now  the  ballot — the  priceless 
glory  of  American  citizenship.  But  better  still  the 
very  land  is  to  be  taken  from  these  proud  aristocrats 
and  given  to  the  poor  down-trodden  black  man.  Forty 
acres  and  a  mule — think  of  it!  Provided,  mind  you — 
that  you  have  a  bottle  of  my  woncer-worker  to  kill 
the  rats  and  save  your  corn  for  the  mule.  No  man 
can  have  the  mule  'inless  he  has  corn;  and  no  man 
can  have  corn  if  he  has  rats  —  and  only  a  few  bottles 
left " 

"  Gimme  one,"  yelled  a  negro. 

"  Forty  acres  and  a  mule,  your  old  masters  to  work  your 
land  and  pay  his  rent  in  corn,  while  you  sit  back  in  the 
shade  and  see  him  sweat." 


A  Whisper  in  the  Crowd  247 

"Gimme  er  bottle  and  two  er  dem  pictures!"  bawled 
another  candidate  for  a  mule. 

The  peddler  handed  him  the  bottle  and  the  pictures 
and  threw  a  handful  of  his  labels  among  the  crowd. 
These  labels  happened  to  be  just  the  size  of  the  ballots, 
having  on  them  the  picture  of  a  dead  rat  lying  on  his  back, 
and,  above,  the  emblem  of  death,  the  cross-bones  and  skull. 

"Forty  acres  and  a  mule  for  every  black  man — why  was 
I  ever  born  white  ?  I  never  had  no  luck,  nohow!" 

Phil  and  Ben  passed  on  nearer  the  polling-place,  around 
which  stood  a  cordon  of  soldiers  with  a  line  of  negro  voters 
two  hundred  yards  in  length  extending  back  into  the  crowd. 

The  negro  Leagues  came  in  armed  battallions  and  voted 
in  droves,  carrying  their  muskets  in  their  hands.  Less 
than  a  dozen  white  men  were  to  be  seen  about  the  place. 

The  negroes,  under  the  drill  of  the  League  and  the 
Freedman's  Bureau,  protected  by  the  bayonet,  were 
voting  to  enfranchise  themselves,  disfranchise  their  former 
masters,  ratify  a  new  constitution,  and  elect  a  legislature 
to  do  their  will.  Old  Aleck  was  a  candidate  for  the 
House,  chief  poll-holder,  and  seemed  to  be  in  charge 
of  the  movements  of  the  voters  outside  the  booth  as  well 
as  inside.  He  appeared  to  be  omnipresent,  and  his  self- 
importance  was  a  sight  Phil  had  never  dreamed.  He 
could  not  keep  his  eyes  off  him. 

"By  George,  Cameron,  he's  a  wonder!"  he  laughed. 

Aleck  had  suppressed  as  far  as  possible  the  story  of  the 
painted  stakes  and  the  deed,  after  sending  out  warnings 
to  the  brethren  to  beware  of  two  enticing  strangers.  The 
surveyors  had  reaped  a  rich  harvest  and  passed  on.  Aleck 


248  The  Clansman 

made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  Columbia,  make  the  laws  him 
self,  and  never  again  trust  a  white  man  from  the  North  or 
South.  The  agent  of  the  Freedman's  Bureau  at  Pied 
mont  tried  to  choke  him  off  the  ticket.  The  League 
backed  him  to  a  man.  He  could  neither  read  nor  write, 
but  before  he  took  to  whiskey  he  had  made  a  specialty  of 
revival  exhortation,  and  his  mouth  was  the  most  effective 
thing  about  him.  In  this  campaign  he  was  an  orator  of 
no  mean  powers.  He  knew  what  he  wanted,  and  he 
knew  what  his  people  wanted,  and  he  put  the  thing  in 
words  so  plain  that  a  wayfaring  man,  though  a  fool, 
couldn't  make  any  mistake  about  it. 

As  he  bustled  past,  forming  a  battalion  of  his  brethren 
in  line  to  march  to  the  polls,  Phil  followed  his  every  move 
ment  with  amused  interest. 

Besides  being  so  bow-legged  that  his  walk  was  a  moving 
joke,  he  was  so  striking  a  negro  in  his  personal  appear 
ance,  he  seemed  to  the  young  Northerner  almost  a  dis 
tinct  type  of  man. 

His  head  was  small  and  seemed  mashed  on  the  sides 
until  it  bulged  into  a  double  lobe  behind.  Even  his  ears, 
which  he  had  pierced  and  hung  with  red  earbobs,  seemed 
to  have  been  crushed  flat  to  the  side  of  his  head.  His 
kinked  hair  was  wrapped  in  little  hard  rolls  close  to  the 
skull  and  bound  tightly  with  dirty  thread.  His  receding 
forehead  was  high  and  indicated  a  cunning  intelligence. 
His  nose  was  broad  and  crushed  flat  against  his  face. 
His  jaws  were  strong  and  angular,  mouth  wide,  and  lips 
thick,  curling  back  from  rows  of  solid  teeth  set  obliquely 
in  their  blue  gums.  The  one  perfect  thing  about  him 


A  Whisper  in  the  Crowd  249 

was  the  size  and  setting  of  his  mouth — he  was  a  born 
African  orator,  undoubtedly  descended  from  a  long  line, 
of  savage  spell-binders,  whose  eloquence  in  the  palaver- 
houses  of  the  jungle  had  made  them  native  leaders.  His 
thin  spindle-shanks  supported  an  oblong,  protruding 
stomach,  resembling  an  elderly  monkey's,  which  seemed 
so  heavy  it  swayed  his  back  to  carry  it. 

The  animal  vivacity  of  his  small  eyes  and  the  flexibility 
of  his  eyebrows,  which  he  worked  up  and  down  rapidly 
with  every  change  of  countenance,  expressed  his  eager 
desires. 

He  had  laid  aside  his  new  shoes,  which  hurt  him,  and 
went  barefooted  to  facilitate  his  movements  on  the  great 
occasion.  His  heels  projected  and  his  foot  was  so  flat  that 
what  should  have  been  the  hollow  of  it  made  a  hole  in 
the  dirt  where  he  left  his  track. 

He  was  already  mellow  with  liquor,and  was  dressed  in  an 
old  army  uniform  and  cap,  with  two  horse-pistols  buckled 
around  his  waist.  On  a  strap  hanging  from  his  shoulder 
were  strung  a  half-dozen  tin  canteens  filled  with  whiskey. 

A  disturbance  in  the  line  of  voters  caused  the  young 
men  to  move  forward  to  see  what  it  meant. 

Two  negro  troopers  had  pulled  Jake  out  of  the  line,  and 
were  dragging  him  toward  old  Aleck. 

The  election  judge  straightened_himself  up  with  great 
dignity: 

"What  wuz  de  rapscallion  doin'?" 

"In  de  line,  tryin'  ter  vote." 

"Fetch  'im  befo'  de  judgment  bar,"  said  Aleck,  taking 
a  drink  from  one  of  his  canteens. 


250  The  Clansman 

The  troopers  brought  Jake  before  the  judge. 

"Tryin'  ter  vote,  is  yer?" 

"'Lowed  I  would." 

"You  hear  'bout  de  great  sassieties  de  Gubment's 
fomentin'  in  dis  country?" 

"Yas,  I  hear  erbout  'em." 

"  Is  yer  er  member  er  de  Union  League  ? " 

"Na-sah.  I'd  rudder  steal  by  myself.  I  doan'  lak  too 
many  in  de  party!" 

"En  yer  ain't  er  No'f  Ca'liny  gemmen,  is  yer — yer 
ain't  er  member  er  de  'Red  Strings'  ?" 

"Na-sah,  I  come  when  I'se  called — dey  doan'  hatter 
put  er  string  on  me — ner  er  block,  ner  er  collar,  ner^er 
chain,  ner  er  muzzle " 

"Will  yer  'splain  ter  dis  cote "  railed  Aleck. 

"What  cote?  Dat  ole  army  cote?"  Jake  laughed  in 
loud  peals  that  rang  over  the  square. 

Aleck  recovered  his  dignity  and  demanded  angrily: 

"Does  yer  belong  ter  de  Heroes  ob  Americky?" 

"Na-sah.  I  ain't  burnt  nobody's  house  ner  barn  yet, 
ner  hamstrung  no  stock,  ner  waylaid  nobody  atter  night 
— honey,  I  ain't  fit  ter  jine.  Heroes  ob  Americky  1  Is 
you  er  hero  ?  " 

"Ef  yer  doan'  b'long  ter  no  s'iety,"  said  Aleck  with 
judicial  deliberation,  "what  is  you?" 

"Des  er  ole-fashun  all-wool-en-er-yard-wide  nigger  dat 
Stan's  by  his  ole  marster  'cause  he's  his  bes'  frien',  stays 
at  home,  en  tends  ter  his  own  business." 

"En  yer  pay  no  'tenshun  ter  de  orders  I  sent  yer  ter  jine 
de  League?" 


A  Whisper  in  the  Crowd  251 

"Na-sah.  I  ain't  er  takin'  orders  fum  er  skeer- 
crow." 

Aleck  ignored  his  insolence,  secure  in  his  power. 

"You  doan  b'long  ter  no  sassiety,,  what  yer  git  in  dat 
line  ter  vote  for?" 

"Ain't  I  er  nigger?" 

"But  yer  ain't  de  right  kin'  er  nigger.  'Res'  dat  man 
fer  'sturbin'  de  peace." 

They  put  Jake  in  jail,  persuaded  his  wife  to  leave  him, 
and  expelled  him  from  the  Baptist  Church,  all  within 
the  week. 

As  the  troopers  led  Jake  to  prison,  a  young  negro 
apparently  about  fifteen  years  old  approached  Aleck, 
holding  in  his  hand  one  of  the  peddler's  rat  labels,  which 
had  gotten  well  distributed  among  the  crowd.  A  group 
of  negro  boys  followed  him  with  these  rat  labels  in  their 
hands,  studying  them  intently. 

"Look  at  dis  ticket,  Uncle  Aleck,"  said  the  leader. 

"Mr.  Alexander  Lenoir,  sah — is  I  yo'  uncle,  nigger?" 

The  youth  walled  his  eyes  angrily. 

"Den  doan'  you  call  me  er  nigger!" 

"Who  yer  talkin'  to,  sah?  You  kin  fling  yer  sass  at 
white  folks,  but,  honey,  yuse  er  projeckin'  wid  death 
now!" 

"  I  ain't  er  nigger — I'se  er  gemman,  I  is,"  was  the  sul 
len  answer. 

"How  ole  is  you?"  asked  Aleck  in  milder  tones. 

"Me  mudder  say  sixteen — but  de  Buro  man  say  I'se 
twenty-one  yistiddy,  de  day  'fo'  'lection." 

"Is  you  voted  to-day?" 


252  The  Clansman 

"Yessah;  vote  in  all  de  boxes  'cept'n  dis  one.  Look  at 
dat  ticket.  Is  dat  de  straight  ticket?" 

Aleck,  who  couldn't  read  the  twelve-inch  letters  of  his 
favourite  bar-room  sign,  took  the  rat  label  and  examined  it 
critically. 

"What  ail  it?"  he  asked  at  length. 

The  boy  pointed  at  the  picture  of  the  rat. 

"What  dat  rat  doin',  lyin'  dar  on  his  back,  wid  his  heels 
cocked  up  in  de  air — 'pear  ter  me  lak  a  rat  otter  be  standin* 
on  his  feet?" 

Aleck  reexamined  it  carefully,  and  then  smiled  be 
nignly  on  the  youth. 

"  De  ignance  er  dese  folks.  What  ud  yer  do  widout  er 
man  lak  me  enjued  wid  de  sperit  en  de  power  ter  splain 
tings?" 

"You  sho'  got  de  sperits,"  said  the  boy,  impudently 
touching  a  canteen. 

Aleck  ignored  the  remark  and  looked  at  the  rat  label 
smilingly. 

"Ain't  we  er  votin',  ter-day,  on  de  Constertooshun 
what's  ter  take  de  ballot  away  f'um  de  white  folks  en  gib 
all  de  power  ter  de  cullud  gemmen — I  axes  yer  dat?" 

The  boy  stuck  his  thumbs  under  his  arms  and  walled 
his  eyes. 

"Yessah!" 

"Den  dat  means  de  ratification  ob  de  Constertooshun!" 

Phil  laughed,  followed,  and  watched  them  fold  their 
tickets,  get  in  line,  and  vote  the  rat  labels. 

Ben  turned  toward  a  white  man  with  gray  beard,  who 
stood  watching  the  crowd. 


A  Whisper  in  the  Crowd  253 

He  was  a  pious  member  of  the  Presbyterian  church,  but 
his  face  didn't  have  a  pious  expression  to-day.  He  had 
been  refused  the  right  to  vote  because  he  had  aided  the 
Confederacy  by  nursing  one  of  his  wounded  boys. 

He  touched  his  hat  politely  to  Ben. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Colonel  Cameron?"  he 
asked  with  a  touch  of  scorn. 

"What's  your  opinion,  Mr.  McAllister?" 

"Well,  Colonel,  I've  been  a  member  of  the  church  for 
over  forty  years.  I'm  not  a  cussin'  man — but  there's  a 
sight  I  never  expected  to  live  to  see.  I've  been  a  faith 
ful  citizen  of  this  state  for  fifty  years.  I  can't  vote,  and  a 
nigger  is  to  be  elected  to-day  to  represent  me  in  the 
Legislature.  Neither  you,  Colonel,  nor  your  father  are 
good  enough  to  vote.  Every  nigger  in  this  county  six 
teen  years  old  and  up  voted  to-day — I  ain't  a  cussin'  man, 
and  I  don't  say  it  as  a  cuss-word,  but  all  I've  got  to  say 
is,  IF  there  BE  such  a  thing  as  a  d — d  shame — that's  it!" 

"Mr.  McAllister,  the  recording  angel  wouldn't  have 
made  a  mark  had  you  said  it  without  the  'IF.'" 

"God  knows  what  this  country's  comin'  to — I  don't," 
said  the  old  man,  bitterly.  "I'm  afraid  to  let  my  wife 
and  daughter  go  out  of  the  house,  or  stay  in  it,  without 
somebody  with  them." 

Ben  leaned  closer  and  whispered,  as  Phil  approached: 

"Come  to  my  office  to-night  at  ten  o'clock;  I  want  to 
see  you  on  some  important  business." 

The  old  man  seized  his  hand  eagerly. 

"Shall  I  bring  the  boys?" 

Ben  smiled. 

"No,     I've  seen  them  some  time  ago." 


CHAPTER  VII 
BY  THE  LIGHT  OF  A  TORCH 

ON  the  night  of  the  election,  Mrs.  Lenoir  gave  a  ball 
at  the  hotel  in  honour  of  Marion's  entrance  into 
society.  She  was  only  in  her  sixteenth  year,  yet 
older  than  her  mother  when  mistress  of  her  own  house 
hold.  The  only  ambition  the  mother  cherished  was  that 
she  might  win  the  love  of  an  honest  man  and  build  for 
herself  a  beautiful  home  on  the  site  of  the  cottage  covered 
with  trailing  roses.  In  this  home-dream  for  Marion  she 
found  a  great  sustaining  joy  to  which  nothing  in  the  life 
of  man  answers. 

The  ball  had  its  political  significance  which  the  mili 
tary  martinet  who  commanded  the  post  understood. 
It  was  the  way  the  people  of  Piedmont  expressed  to  him 
and  the  world  their  contempt  for  the  farce  of  an  election 
he  had  conducted,  and  their  indifference  as  to  the  result 
he  would  celebrate  with  many  guns  before  midnight. 

The  young  people  of  the  town  were  out  in  force.  Marion 
was  a  universal  favourite.  The  grace,  charm,  and  tender 
beauty  of  the  Southern  girl  of  sixteen  were  combined  in 
her  with  a  gentle  and  unselfish  disposition.  Amid  pov 
erty  that  was  pitiful,  unconscious  of  its  limitations,  her 
thoughts  were  always  of  others,  and  she  was  the  one 
human  being  everybody  had  agreed  to  love.  In  the  vil- 


By  the  Light  of  a  Torch  255 

lage  in  which  she  lived,  wealth  counted  for  naught.  She 
belonged  to  the  aristocracy  of  poetry,  beauty,  and 
intrinsic  worth,  and  her  people  knew  no  other. 

As  she  stood  in  the  long  dining-room,  dressed  in  her 
first  ball  costume  of  white  organdy  and  lace,  the  little 
plump  shoulders  peeping  through  its  meshes,  she  was  the 
picture  of  happiness.  A  half-dozen  boys  hung  on  every 
word  as  the  utterance  of  an  oracle.  She  waved  gently 
an  old  ivory  fan  with  white  down  on  its  edges  in  a 
way  the  charm  of  which  is  the  secret  birthright  of  every 
Southern  girl. 

Now  and  then  she  glanced  at  the  door  for  some  one 
who  had  not  yet  appeared. 

Phil  paid  his  tribute  to  her  with  genuine  feeling,  and 
Marion  repaid  him  by  whispering: 

"Margaret's  dressed  to  kill — all  in  soft  azure  blue — 
her  rosy  cheeks,  black  hair,  and  eyes  never  shone  as 
they  do  to-night.  She  doesn't  dance  on  account  of  her 
Sunday-school — it's  all  for  you." 

Phil  blushed  and  smiled. 

"The  preacher  won't  be  here?" 

"Our  rector  will." 

"He's  a  nice  old  gentleman.  I'm  fond  of  him.  Miss 
Marion,  your  mother  is  a  genius.  I  hope  she  can  plan 
thess  little  affairs  oftener." 

It  was  half-past  ten  o'clock  when  Ben  Cameron  entered 
the  room  with  Elsie  a  little  ruffled  at  his  delay  over  imagi 
nary  business  at  his  office.  Ben  answered  her  criticisms 
with  a  strange  elation.  She  had  felt  a  secret  between 
them  and  resented  it. 


256  The  Clansman  ( 

At  Mrs.  Lenolr's  special  request,  he  had  put  on  his  full 
uniform  of  a  Confederate  Colonel  in  honour  of  Marion 
and  the  poem  her  father  had  written  of  one  of  his  gallant 
charges.  He  had  not  worn  it  since  he  fell  that  day  in 
Phil's  arms. 

No  one  in  the  room  had  ever  seen  him  in  this  Colonel's 
uniform.  Its  yellow  sash  with  the  gold  fringe  and  tassels 
was  faded  and  there  were  two  bullet  holes  in  the  coat.  A 
murmur  of  applause  from  the  boys,  sighs  and  exclamations 
from  the  girls  swept  the  room  as  he  took  Marion's  hand, 
bowed  and  kissed  it.  Her  blue  eyes  danced  and  smiled 
on  him  with  frank  admiration. 

"Ben,  you're  the  handsomest  thing  I've  ever  seenl" 
she  said,  softly. 

"Thanks.  I  thought  you  had  a  mirror.  I'll  send  you 
one,"  he  answered,  slipping  his  arm  around  her  and  glid 
ing  away  to  the  strains  of  a  waltz.  The  girl's  hand  trem 
bled  as  she  placed  it  on  his  shoulder,  her  cheeks  were 
flushed,  and  her  eyes  had  a  wistful  dreamy  look  in  their 
depths. 

When  Ben  rejoined  Elsie  and  they  strolled  on  the  lawn, 
the  military  commandant  suddenly  confronted  them  with 
a  squad  of  soldiers. 

"I'll  trouble  you  for  those  buttons  and  shoulder-straps," 
said  the  Captain. 

Elsie's  amber  eyes  began  to  spit  fire.  Ben  stood  still 
and  smiled. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"That  I  will  not  be  insulted  by  the  wearing  of  this 
uniform  to-day." 


By  the  Light  of  a  Torch  257 

"I  dare  you  to  touch  it,  coward,  poltroon!"  cried  the 
girl,  her  plump  little  figure  bristling  in  front  of  her  lover. 

Ben  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  and  gently  drew  her 
back  to  his  side:  "He  has  the  power  to  do  this.  It  is  a 
technical  violation  of  law  to  wear  them.  I  have  surren 
dered.  I  am  a  gentleman  and  I  have  been  a  soldier.  He 
can  have  his  tribute.  I've  promised  my  father  to  offer 
no  violence  to  the  military  authority  of  the  United  States." 

He  stepped  forward,  and  the  officer  cut  the  buttons 
from  his  coat  and  ripped  the  straps  from  his  shoulders. 

While  the  performance  was  going  on,  Ben  quietly  said: 

"General  Grant  at  Appomattox,  with  the  instincts  of 
a  great  soldier,  gave  our  men  his  spare  horses  and  ordered 
that  Confederate  officers  retain  their  side-arms.  The 
General  is  evidently  not  in  touch  with  this  force." 

"No;  I'm  in  command  in  this  county,"  said  the 
Captain. 

"Evidently." 

When  he  had  gone,  Elsie's  eyes  were  dim.  They 
strolled  under  the  shadow  of  the  great  oak  and  stood  in 
silence,  listening  to  the  music  within  and  the  distant  mur 
mur  of  the  falls. 

"Why  is  it,  sweetheart,  that  a  girl  will  persist  in  admir 
ing  brass  buttons?"  Ben  asked,  softly. 

She  raised  her  lips  to  his  for  a  kiss  and  answered: 

"  Because  a  soldier's  business  is  to  die  for  his  country." 

As  Ben  led  her  back  into  the  ball-room  and  surrendered 
her  to  a  friend  for  a  dance,  the  first  gun  pealed  its  note  of 
victory  from  the  square  in  the  celebration  of  the  triumph 
of  the  African  slave  over  his  white  master. 


258  The  Clansman 

Ben  strolled  out  in  the  street  to  hear  the  news. 

The  Constitution  had  been  ratified  by  an  enormous 
majority,  and  a  Legislature  elected  composed  of  101  ne 
groes  and  23  white  men.  Silas  Lynch  had  been  elected 
Lieutenant-Governor,  a  negro  Secretary  of  State,  a  negro 
Treasurer,  and  a  negro  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court. 

When  Bizzel,  the  wizzen-faced  agent  of  the  Freedman's 
Bureau,  made  this  announcement  from  the  court  house 
steps,  pandemonium  broke  loose.  An  incessant  rattle  of 
musketry  began  in  which  ball  cartridges  were  used,  the 
missiles  whistling  over  the  town  in  every  direction.  Yet 
within  half  an  hour  the  square  was  deserted  and  a  strange 
quiet  followed  the  storm. 

Old  Aleck  staggered  by  the  hotel,  his  drunkenness 
having  reached  the  religious  stage. 

"Behold,  a  curiosity,  gentlemen,"  cried  Ben  to  a  group 
of  boys  who  had  gathered,  "  a  voter  is  come  among  us — in 
fact,  he  is  the  people,  the  king,  our  representative  elect, 
the  Honourable  Alexander  Lenoir,of  the  county  of  Ulster! " 

"Gemmens,  de  Lawd's  bin  good  ter  me,"  said  Aleck, 
weeping  copiously. 

"They  say  the  rat  labels  were  in  a  majority  in  this  pre 
cinct — how  was  that?"  asked  Ben. 

"Yessah — dat  what  de  scornful  say — dem  dat  sets  in 
de  seat  o'  de  scornful,  but  de  Lawd  er  Hosts  He  fetch  em 
low.  Mistah  Bissel  de  Euro  man  count  all  dem  rat  votes 
right,  sah — dey  couldn't  fool  him — he  know  what  dey 
mean — he  count  'em  all  for  me  an'  de  ratification." 

"Sure-pop!"  said  Ben;  "if  you  can't  ratify  with  a  rat, 
I'd  like  to  know  why?" 


By  the  Light  of  a  Torch  259 

"Dat's  what  I  tells  'em,  sah." 

"Of  course,"  said  Ben,  good-humouredly.  "The  voice 
of  the  people  is  the  voice  of  God — rats  or  no  rats — if  you 
know  how  to  count." 

As  old  Aleck  staggered  away,  the  sudden  crash  of  a 
volley  of  musketry  echoed  in  the  distance. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Ben,  listening  intently.  The 
sound  was  unmistakable  to  a  soldier's  ear — that  volley 
from  a  hundred  rifles  at  a  single  word  of  command.  It 
was  followed  by  a  shot  on  a  hill  in  the  distance,  and  then 
by  a  faint  echo,  farther  still.  Ben  listened  a  few  moments 
and  turned  into  the  lawn  of  the  hotel.  The  music  sud 
denly  stopped,  the  tramp  of  feet  echoed  on  the  porch,  a 
woman  screamed,  and  from  the  rear  of  the  house  came 
the  cry: 

"Fire!  Fire!" 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  an  immense  sheet  of  flame 
shot  skyward  from  the  big  barn. 

"My  God!"  groaned  Ben.  "Jake's  in  jail,  to-night, 
and  they've  set  the  barn  on  fire.  It's  worth  more  than 
the  house." 

The  crowd  rushed  down  the  hill  to  the  •blazing  build 
ing,  Marion's  fleet  figure  in  its  flying  white  dress  leading 
the  crowd. 

The  lowing  of  the  cows  and  the  wild  neighing  of  the 
horses  rang  above  the  roar  of  the  flames. 

Before  Ben  could  reach  the  spot  Marion  had  opened 
every  stall.  Two  cows  leaped  out  to  safety,  but  not  a 
horse  would  move  from  its  stall,  and  each  moment  wilder 
and  more  pitiful  grew  their  death-cries. 


260  The  Clansman 

Marion  rushed  to  Ben,  her  eyes  dilated,  her  face  as 
white  as  the  dress  she  wore. 

"Oh,  Ben,  Queen  won't  come  out!    What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"You  can  do  nothing,  child.  A  horse  won't  come  out 
of  a  burning  stable  unless  he's  blindfolded.  They'll  all 
be  burned  to  death." 

"Oh!  no!"  the  girl  cried  in  agony. 

"They'd  trample  you  to  death  if  you  tried  to  get  them 
out.  It  can't  be  helped.  It's  too  late." 

As  Ben  looked  back  at  the  gathering  crowd,  Marion 
suddenly  snatched  a  horse-blanket,  lying  at  the  door,  ran 
with  the  speed  of  a  deer  to  the  pond,  plunged  in,  sprang 
out,  and  sped  back  to  the  open  door  of  Queen's  stall, 
through  which  her  shrill  cry  could  be  heard  above  the 
others. 

As  the  girl  ran  toward  the  burning  building,  her  thin 
white  dress  clinging  close  to  her  exquisite  form,  she  looked 
like  the  marble  figure  of  a  sylph  by  the  hand  of  some  great 
master  into  which  God  had  suddenly  breathed  the  breath 
of  life. 

As  they  saw  her  purpose,  a  cry  of  horror  rose  from  the 
crowd,  her  mother's  scream  loud  above  the  rest. 

Ben  rushed  to  catch  her,  shouting: 

"Marion!   Marion!   She'll  trample  you  to  death!" 

He  was  too  late.  She  leaped  into  the  stall.  The 
crowd  held  their  breath.  There  was  a  moment  of  awful 
suspense,  and  the  mare  sprang  through  the  open  door 
with  the  little  white  figure  clinging  to  her  mane  and  hold 
ing  the  blanket  over  her  head. 

A  cheer  rang  above  the  roar  of  the  flames.    The  girl 


By  the  Light  of  a  Torch  261 

did  not  loose  her  hold  until  her  beautiful  pet  was  led  to  a 
place  of  safety,  while  she  clung  to  her  neck  and  laughed 
and  cried  for  joy.  First  her  mother,  then  Margaret, 
Mrs.  Cameron,  and  Elsie  took  her  in  their  arms. 

As  Ben  approached  the  group,  Elsie  whispered  to  him: 
"Kiss  her!" 

Ben  took  her  hand,  his  eyes  full  of  unshed  tears,  and 
said: 

"The  bravest  deed  a  woman  ever  did — you're  a  heroine, 
Marion!" 

Before  she  knew  it,  he  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

She  was  very  still  for  a  moment,  smiled,  trembled  from 
head  to  foot,  blushed  scarlet,  took  her  mother  by  the  hand, 
and  without  a  word  hurried  to  the  house. 

Poor  Becky  was  whining  among  the  excited  crowd 
and  sought  in  vain  for  Marion.  At  last  she  got  Mar 
garet's  attention,  caught  her  dress  in  her  teeth  and  led  her 
to  a  corner  of  the  lot,  where  she  had  laid  side  by  side  her 
puppies,  smothered  to  death.  She  stood  and  looked  at 
them  with  her  tail  drooping,  the  picture  of  despair.  Mar 
garet  burst  into  tears  and  called  Ben. 

He  bent  and  put  his  arm  around  the  setter's  neck  and 
stroked  her  head  with  his  hand.  Looking  up  at  his  sister, 
he  said: 

"Don't  tell  Marion  of  this.  She  can't  stand  any  more 
to-night." 

The  crowd  had  all  dispersed,  and  the  flames  had  died 
down  for  want  of  fuel.  The  odour  of  roasting  flesh,  pun 
gent  and  acrid,  still  lingered  a  sharp  reminder  of  the 
tragedy. 


262  The  Clansman 

Ben  stood  on  the  back  porch,  talking  in  low  tones  to 
his  father. 

"Will  you  join  us  now,  sir?  We  need  the  name  and 
influence  of  men  of  your  standing." 

"My  boy,  two  wrongs  never  make  a  right.  It's  better 
to  endure  awhile.  The  sober  common  sense  of  the 
Nation  will  yet  save  us.  We  must  appeal  to  it." 

"Eight  more  fires  were  seen  from  town  to-night." 

"You  only  guess  their  origin." 

"I  know  their  origin.  It  was  done  by  the  League  at 
a  signal  as  a  celebration  of  the  election  and  a  threat  of 
terror  to  the  county.  One  of  our  men  concealed  a  faith 
ful  negro  under  the  floor  of  the  school-house  and  heard 
the  plot  hatched.  We  expected  it  a  month  ago — but 
hoped  they  had  given  it  up." 

"Even  so,  my  boy,  a  secret  society  such  as  you  have 
planned  means  a  conspiracy  that  may  bring  exile  or 
death.  I  hate  lawlessness  and  disorder.  We  have  had 
enough  of  it.  Your  clan  means  ultimately  martial  law. 
At  least  we  will  get  rid  of  these  soldiers  by  this  election. 
They  have  done  their  worst  to  me,  but  we  may  save  others 
by  patience." 

"It's  the  only  way,  sir.  The  next  step  will  be  a  black 
hand  on  a  white  woman's  throat!" 

The  doctor  frowned.  "Let  us  hope  for  the  best. 
Your  clan  is  the  last  act  of  desperation." 

"But  if  everything  else  fail,  and  this  creeping  horror 
becomes  a  fact — then  what?" 

"My  boy,  we  will  pray  that  God  may  never  let  us  live 
to  see  the  day!" 

\ 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  RIOT  IN  THE  MASTER'S  HALL 

ALARMED  at  the  possible  growth  of  the  secret  clan 
into  which  Ben  had  urged  him  to  enter,  Dr.  Cam 
eron  determined  to  press  for  relief  from  oppres 
sion  by  an  open  appeal  to  the  conscience  of  the  Nation. 

He  called  a  meeting  of  conservative  leaders  in  a 
Taxpayers'  Convention  at  Columbia.  His  position 
as  a  leader  had  been  made  supreme  by  the  indigni 
ties  he  had  suffered,  and  he  felt  sure  of  his  ability  to 
accomplish  results.  Every  county  in  the  state  was 
represented  by  its  best  men  in  this  gathering  at  the 
Capital. 

The  day  he  undertook  to  present  his  memorial  to  the 
Legislature  was  one  he  never  forgot.  The  streets  were 
crowded  with  negroes  who  had  come  to  town  to  hear 
Lynch,  the  Lieutenant-Governor,  speak  in  a  mass-meet 
ing.  Negro  policemen  swung  their  clubs  in  his  face  as 
he  pressed  through  the  insolent  throng  up  the  street  to 
the  stately  marble  Capitol.  At  the  door  a  black,  greasy 
trooper  stopped  him  to  parley.  Every  decently  dressed 
white  man  was  regarded  a  spy. 

As  he  passed  inside  the  doors  of  the  House  of  Repre 
sentatives,  the  rush  of  foul  air  staggered  him.  The  reek 
of  vile  cigars  and  stale  whiskey,  mingled  with  the  odour  of 

263 


264  The  Clansman 

perspiring  negroes,  was  overwhelming.  He  paused  and 
gasped  for  breath. 

The  space  behind  the  seats  of  the  members  was  strewn 
frith  corks,  broken  glass,  stale  crusts,  greasy  pieces  of 
paper,  and  picked  bones.  The  hall  was  packed  with 
negroes,  smoking,  chewing,  jabbering,  pushing,  perspiring. 

A  carpet-bagger  at  his  elbow  was  explaining  to  an  old 
darkey  from  down  east  why  his  forty  acres  and  a  mule 
hadn't  come. 

On  the  other  side  of  him  a  big  negro  bawled: 

"Dat's  all  right!     De  cullud  man  on  top!" 

The  doctor  surveyed  the  hall  in  dismay.  At  first  not  a 
white  member  was  visible.  The  galleries  were  packed 
with  negroes.  The  Speaker  presiding  was  a  negro,  the 
Clerk  a  negro,  the  doorkeepers  negroes,  the  little  pages  all 
coal-black  negroes,  the  Chaplain  a  negro.  The  negro 
party  consisted  of  one  hundred  and  one — ninety-four 
blacks  and  seven  scallawags,  who  claimed  to  be  white. 
The  remains  of  Aryan  civilisation  were  represented  by 
twenty-three  white  men  from  the  Scotch-Irish  hill  counties. 

The  doctor  had  served  three  terms  as  the  member 
from  Ulster  in  this  hall  in  the  old  days,  and  its  appearance 
now  was  beyond  any  conceivable  depth  of  degradation. 

The  ninety-four  Africans,  constituting  almost  its  solid 
membership,  were  a  motley  crew.  Every  negro  type  was 
there,  from  the  genteel  butler  to  the  clodhopper  from 
the  cotton  and  rice  fields.  Some  had  on  second-hand 
seedy  frock-coats  their  old  masters  had  given  them  be 
fore  the  war,  glossy  and  threadbare.  Old  stovepipe 
hats,  of  every  style  in  vogue  since  Noah  came  out  of  the 


The  Riot  in  the  Master's  Hall  265 

ark,  were  placed  conspicuously  on  the  desks  or  cocked  on 
the  backs  of  the  heads  of  the  honourable  members.  Some 
wore  the  coarse  clothes  of  the  field,  stained  with  red  mud. 

Old  Aleck,  he  noted,  had  a  red  woolen  comforter  wound 
round  his  neck  in  place  of  a  shirt  or  collar.  He  had  tried 
to  go  barefooted,  but  the  Speaker  had  issued  a  rule  that 
members  should  come  shod.  He  was  easing  his  feet  by 
placing  his  brogans  under  the  desk,  wearing  only  his  red 
socks. 

Each  member  had  his  name  painted  in  enormous  gold 
letters  on  his  desk,  and  had  placed  beside  it  a  sixty-dollar 
French  imported  spittoon.  Even  the  Congress  of  the 
United  States,  under  the  inspiration  of  Oakes  Ames  and 
Speaker  Colfax,  could  only  afford  one  of  domestic  make, 
which  cost  a  dollar. 

The  uproar  was  deafening.  From  four  to  six  negroes 
were  trying  to  speak  at  the  same  time.  Aleck's  majestic 
mouth  with  blue  gums  and  projecting  teeth  led  the  chorus, 
as  he  ambled  down  the  aisle,  his  bow-legs  flying  their  red- 
sock  ensigns. 

The  Speaker  singled  him  out — his  voice  was  some 
thing  which  simply  could  not  be  ignored — rapped  and 
yelled : 

"De  gemman  from  Ulster  set  down!" 

Aleck  turned  crestfallen  and  resumed  his  seat,  throw 
ing  his  big  flat  feet  in  their  red  woollens  up  on  his  desk 
and  hiding  his  face  behind  their  enormous  spread. 

He  had  barely  settled  in  his  chair  before  a  new  idea 
flashed  through  his  head  and  up  he  jumped  again: 

"Mistah  Speaker!"  he  bawled. 


266  The  Clansman 

"Orda  da!"  yelled  another. 

"Knock  'im  in  de  head!" 

"Seddown,  nigger!" 

The  Speaker  pointed  his  gavel  at  Aleck  and  threatened 
him  laughingly: 

"Ef  de  gemman  from  Ulster  doan  set  down  I  gwine  call 
'im  ter  orda!" 

Uncle  Aleck  greeted  this  threat  with  a  wild  guffaw, 
which  the  whole  House  about  him  joined  in  heartily. 
They  laughed  like  so  many  hens  cackling — when  one 
started  the  others  would  follow. 

The  most  of  them  were  munching  peanuts,  and  the 
crush  of  hulls  under  heavy  feet  added  a  subnote  to  the 
confusion  like  the  crackle  of  a  prairie  fire. 

The  ambition  of  each  negro  seemed  to  be  to  speak  at 
least  a  half-dozen  times  on  each  question,  saying  the 
same  thing  every  time. 

No  man  was  allowed  to  talk  five  minutes  without  an 
interruption  which  brought  on  another  and  another 
until  the  speaker  was  drowned  in  a  storm  of  contending 
yells.  Their  struggles  to  get  the  floor  with  bawlings, 
bellowings,  and  contortions,  and  the  senseless  rap  of  the 
Speaker's  gavel,  were  something  appalling. 

On  this  scene,  through  fetid  smoke  and  animal  roar, 
looked  down  from  the  walls,  in  marble  bas-relief,  the  still 
white  faces  of  Robert  Hayne  and  George  McDuffie, 
through  whose  veins  flowed  the  blood  of  Scottish  kings, 
while  over  it  brooded  in  solemn  wonder  the  face  of  John 
Laurens,  whose  diplomatic  genius  at  the  court  of  France 
won  millions  of  gold  for  our  tottering  cause,  and  sent  a 


The  Riot  in  the  Master's  Hall  267 

French  fleet  and  army  into  the  Chesapeake  to  entrap 
Cornwallis  at  Yorktown. 

The  little  group  of  twenty-three  white  men,  the  descend 
ants  of  these  spirits,  to  whom  Dr.  Cameron  had  brought 
his  memorial,  presented  a  pathetic  spectacle.  Most  of 
them  were  old  men,  who  sat  in  grim  silence  with  nothing 
to  do  or  say  as  they  watched  the  rising  black  tide,  their 
dignity,  reserve,  and  decorum  at  once  the  wonder  and  the 
shame  of  the  modern  world. 

At  least  they  knew  that  the  minstrel  farce  being  en 
acted  on  that  floor  was  a  tragedy  as  deep  and  dark  as 
was  ever  woven  of  the  blood  and  tears  of  a  conquered 
people.  Beneath  those  loud  guffaws  they  could  hear 
the  death-rattle  in  the  throat  of  their  beloved  state,  bar 
barism  strangling  civilisation  by  brute  force. 

For  all  the  stupid  uproar,  the  black  leaders  of  this  mob 
knew  what  they  wanted.  One  of  them  was  speaking  now, 
the  leader  of  the  House,  the  Honourable  Napoleon 
Whipper. 

Dr.  Cameron  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  little  group  of 
white  members  in  one  corner  of  the  chamber,  beside  an 
old  friend  from  an  adjoining  county  whom  he  had  known 
in  better  days.  ( 

"Now  listen,"  said  his  friend.  "When  Whipper  talks 
he  always  says  something." 

"Mr.  Speaker,  I  move  you,  sir,  in  view  of  the  arduous 
duties  which  our  presiding  officer  has  performed  this  week 
for  the  State,  that  he  be  allowed  one  thousand  dollars 
extra  pay." 

The  motion  was  put  without  debate  and  carried. 


268  The  Clansman 

The  speaker  then  called  Whipper  to  the  Chair  and  made 
the  same  motion,  to  give  the  Leader  of  the  House  an  extra 
thousand  dollars  for  the  performance  of  his  heavy  duties. 

It  was  carried. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Very  simple ;  Whipper  and  the  Speaker  adjourned  the 
House  yesterday  afternoon  to  attend  a  horse  race.  They 
lost  a  thousand  dollars  each  betting  on  the  wrong  horse. 
They  are  recuperating  after  the  strain.  They  are  booked 
for  judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  when  they  finish  this  job. 
The  negro  mass-meeting  to-night  is  to  indorse  their  names 
for  the  Supreme  Bench. 

"  Is  it  possible ! "  the  doctor  exclaimed. 

When  Wliipper  resumed  his  place  at  his  desk,  the  intro 
duction  of  bills  began.  One  after  another  were  sent  to 
the  Speaker's  desk,  a  measure  to  disarm  the  whites  and 
equip  with  modern  rifles  a  Negro  militia  of  80,000  men; 
to  make  the  uniform  of  Confederate  gray  the  garb  of  con 
victs  in  South  Carolina,  with  the  sign  of  rank  to  signify 
the  degree  of  crime ;  to  prevent  any  person  calling  another 
a  "nigger";  to  require  men  to  remove  their  hats  in  the 
presence  of  all  officers,  civil  or  military,  and  all  disfran 
chised  men  to  remove  their  hats  in  the  presence  of  voters; 
to  force  whites  and  blacks  to  attend  the  same  schools  and 
open  the  State  University  to  negroes;  to  permit  the 
intermarriage  of  whites  and  blacks;  and  to  inforce  social 
equality. 

Whipper  made  a  brief  speech  on  the  last  measure: 

"  Before  I  am  through,  I  mean  that  it  shall  be  known 
that  Napoleon  Whipper  is  as  good  as  any  man  in  South 


The  Riot  in  the  Master's  Hall  269 

Carolina.  Don't  tell  me  that  I  am  not  on  an  equality  with 
any  man  God  ever  made." 

Dr.  Cameron  turned  pale,  and  trembling  with  excite 
ment,  asked  his  friend: 

"  Can  that  man  pass  such  measures,  and  the  Governor 
sign  them?" 

"He  can  pass  anything  he  wishes.  The  Governor  is 
his  creature — a  dirty  little  scalawag  who  tore  the  Union 
flag  from  Fort  Sumter,  trampled  it  in  the  dust,  and  helped 
raise  the  flag  of  the  Confederacy  over  it.  Now  he  is  backed 
by  the  Government  at  Washington.  He  won  his  election 
by  dancing  at  negro  balls  and  the  purchase  of  delegates. 
His  salary  as  Governor  is  $3,500  a  year,  and  he  spends 
over  $40,000.  Comment  is  unnecessary.  This  Legis 
lature  has  stolen  millions  of  dollars,  and  already  bank 
rupted  the  treasury.  The  day  Howie  was  elected  to  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States,  every  negro  on  the  floor  had 
his  roll  of  bills  and  some  of  them  counted  it  out  on  their 
desks.  In  your  day  the  annual  cost  of  the  State  gov 
ernment  was  $400,000.  This  year  it  is  $2,000,000. 
These  thieves  steal  daily.  They  don't  deny  it.  They 
simply  dare  you  to  prove  it.  The  writing-paper  on  the 
desks  cost  $16,000.  These  clocks  on  the  wall  $600  each, 
and  every  little  Radical  newspaper  in  the  state  has  been 
subsidised  in  sums  varying  from  $1,000  to  $7,000.  Each 
member  is  allowed  to  draw  fcr  mileage,  per  diem,  and 
"sundries."  God  only  knows  what  the  bill  for  "sun 
dries"  will  aggregate  by  the  end  of  the  session." 

"  I  couldn't  conceive  of  this ! "  exclaimed  the  doctor. 

"  I've  only  given  you  a  hint.     We  ar°  a  conquered  race. 


270  The  Clansman 

The  iron  hand  of  Fate  is  on  us.  We  can  only  wait  for  the 
shadows  to  deepen  into  night.  President  Grant  appears 
to  be  a  babe  in  the  woods.  Schuyler  Colfax,  the  Vice- 
president,  and  Belknap,  the  Secretary  of  War,  are  in  the 
saddle  in  Washington.  I  hear  things  are  happening 
there  that  are  quite  interesting.  Besides,  Congress 
now  can  give  little  relief.  The  real  law-making  power 
in  America  is  the  State  Legislature.  The  State 
law-maker  enters  into  the  holy  of  holies  of  our  daily  life. 
Once  more  we  are  a  sovereign  State — a  sovereign  Negro 
State." 

"I  fear  my  mission  is  futile,"  said  the  doctor. 

"It's  ridiculous — I'll  call  for  you  to-night  and  take  you 
to  hear  Lynch,  our  Lieutenant  Governor.  He  is  a  remark 
able  man.  Our  negro  Supreme  Court  Judge  will  pre 
side " 

Uncle  Aleck,  who  had  suddenly  spied  Dr.  Cameron, 
broke  in  with  a  laughing  welcome: 

"I  'clar  ter  goodness,  Dr.  Cammun,  I  didn't  know  you 
wuz  here,  sah.  I  sho'  glad  ter  see  you.  I  axes  yer  ter 
come  across  de  street  ter  my  room;  I  got  sumfin'  pow'ful 
pertickler  ter  say  ter  you." 

The  doctor  followed  Aleck  out  of  the  Hall  and  across  the 
street  to  his  room  in  a  little  boarding-house.  His  door  was 
locked,  and  the  windows  darkened  by  blinds.  Instead  of 
opening  the  blinds,  he  lighted  a  lamp. 

"Ob  cose,  Dr.  Cammun,  you  say  nuffin  'bout  what  I 
gwine  tell  you?" 

"Certainly  not,  Aleck." 

The  room  was  f'Tll  of  drygoods  boxes.    The  space  under 


The  Riot  in  the  Master's  Hall  271 

the  bed  was  packed,  and  they  were  piled  to  the  ceiling 
around  the  walls. 

"Why,  what's  all  this,  Aleck?" 

The  member  from  Ulster  chuckled: 

"Dr.  Cammun,  yu'se  been  er  pow'ful  good  frien*  ter 
me — gimme  medicine  lots  er  times,  en  I  hain't  nebber  paid 
you  nuttin'.  I'se  sho'  come  inter  de  kingdom  now,  en  I 
wants  ter  pay  my  respects  ter  you,  sah.  Des  look  ober 
dat  paper,  en  mark  what  you  wants,  en  I  hab  'em  sont 
home  fur  you." 

The  member  from  Ulster  handed  his  physician  a  printed 
list  of  more  than  five  hundred  articles  of  merchandise. 
The  doctor  read  it  over  with  amazement. 

"  I  don't  understand  it,  Aleck.     Do  you  own  a  store  ?  " 

"  Na-sah,  but  we  git  all  we  wants  fum  mos'  eny  ob  'em. 
Dem's  'sundries,'  sah,  dat  de  gubment  gibs  de  members. 
We  des  orda  what  we  needs.  No  trouble  'tall,  sah.  De 
men  what  got  de  goods  come  roun'  en  beg  us  ter  take  'em." 

The  doctor  smiled  in  spite  of  the  tragedy  back  of  the 
joke. 

"Let's  see  some  of  the  goods,  Aleck — are  they  first 
class?" 

"Yessah;  de  bes'  goin'.     I  show  you." 

He  pulled  out  a  number  of  boxes  and  bundles,  exhibiting 
carpets,  door-mats,  hassocks,  dog-collars,  cow-bells,  oil 
cloths,  velvets,  mosquito-nets,  damask,  Irish  linen,  billiard 
outfits,  towels,  blankets,  flannels,  quilts,  women's  hoods, 
hats,  ribbons,  pins,  needles,  scissors,  dumb-bells,  skates, 
crape,  skirt  braids,  tooth-brushes,  face-powder,  hooks  and 
eyes,  skirts,  bustles,  chignons,  garters,  artificial  busts, 


272  The  Clansman 

chemises,  parasols,  watches,  jewelry,  diamond  earrings, 
ivory-handled  knives  and  forks,  pistols  and  guns,  and  a 
Webster's  Dictionary. 

"  Got  lots  mo'  in  dem  boxes  nailed  up  dar — yessah,  hit's 
no  use  er  lettin'  good  tings  go  by  yer  when  you  kin  des  put 
out  yer  han'  en  stop  'em !  Some  er  de  members  ordered 
horses  en  carriages,  but  I  tuk  er  par  er  fine  mules  wid 
harness  en  two  buggies  en  er  wagin.  Dey  'roun  at  de 
libry  stable,  sah." 

The  doctor  thanked  Aleck  for  his  friendly  feeling,  but 
told  him  it  was,  of  course,  impossible  for  him  at  this 
time,  being  only  a  taxpayer  and  neither  a  voter  nor  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Legislature,  to  share  in  his  supply  of  "sundries." 

He  went  to  the  warehouse  that  night  with  his  friend  to 
hear  Lynch,  wondering  if  his  mind  were  capable  of 
receiving  another  shock. 

This  meeting  had  been  called  to  indorse  the  candidacy, 
for  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court,  of  Napoleon  Whipper, 
the  Leader  of  the  House,  the  notorious  negro  thief  and 
gambler,  and  William  Pitt  Moses,  an  ex-convict,  his  con 
federate  in  crime.  They  had  been  unanimously  chosen 
for  the  positions  by  a  secret  caucus  of  the  ninety-four  negro 
members  of  the  House.  This  addition  to  the  Court,  with 
the  negro  already  a  member,  would  give  a  majority  to  the 
black  man  on  the  last  Tribunal  of  Appeal. 

The  few  white  men  of  the  party  who  had  any  sense  of 
decency  were  in  open  revolt  at  this  atrocity.  But  their 
influence  was  on  the  wane.  The  carpet-bagger  shaped  the 
first  Convention  and  got  the  first  plums  of  office.  Now  the 
Negro  was  in  the  saddle,  and  he  meant  to  stay.  There5 


The  Riot  in  the  Master's  Hall  273 

were  not  enough  white  men  in  the  Legislature  to  force  a 
roll-call  on  a  division  of  the  House.  This  meeting  was 
an  open  defiance  of  all  palefaces  inside  or  outside  party 
lines. 

Every  inch  of  space  in  the  big  cotton  warehouse  was 
jammed — a  black  living  cloud,  pungent  and  piercing. 

The  distinguished  Lieutenant-Governor,  Silas  Lynch, 
had  not  yet  arrived,  but  the  negro  Justice  of  the  Supreme 
Court,  Pinchback,  was  in  his  seat  as  the  presiding  officer. 

Dr.  Cameron  watched  the  movements  of  the  black 
judge,  already  notorious  for  the  sale  of  his  opinions,  with 
a  sense  of  sickening  horror.  This  man  was  but  yester 
day  a  slave,  his  father  a  medicine-man  in  an  African 
jungle  who  decided  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  accused 
by  the  test  of  administering  poison.  If  the  poison  killed 
the  man,  he  was  guilty;  if  he  survived,  he  was  innocent. 
For  four  thousand  years  his  land  had  stood  a  solid  bul 
wark  of  unbroken  barbarism.  Out  of  its  darkness  he  had 
been  thrust  upon  the  seat  of  judgment  of  the  laws  of  the 
proudest  and  highest  type  of  man  evolved  in  time.  It 
seemed  a  hideous  dream. 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  a  shout.  It  came 
spontaneous  and  tremendous  in  its  genuine  feeling.  The 
magnificent  figure  of  Lynch,  their  idol,  appeared  walking 
down  the  aisle  escorted  by  the  little  scalawag  who  was  the 
Governor. 

He  took  his  seat  on  the  platform  with  the  easy  assurance 
of  conscious  power.  His  broad  shoulders,  superb  head, 
and  gleaming  jungle-eyes  held  every  man  in  the  audience 
before  he  had  spoken  a  word. 


274  The  Clansman 

In  the  first  masterful  tones  of  his  voice  the  doctor's  keen 
intelligence  caught  the  ring  of  his  savage  metal  and  felt  the 
shock  of  his  powerful  personality — a  personality  which 
had  thrown  to  the  winds  every  mask,  whose  sole  aim  of 
life  was  sensual,  whose  only  fears  were  of  physical  pain 
and  death,  who  could  worship  a  snake  and  sacrifice  a 
human  being. 

His  playful  introduction  showed  him  a  child  of  Mystery, 
moved  by  Voices  and  inspired  by  a  Fetish.  His  face  was 
full  of  good  humour,  and  his  whole  figure  rippled  with  sleek 
animal  vivacity.  For  the  moment,  life  was  a  comedy  and 
a  masquerade  teeming  with  whims,  fancies,  ecstasies  and 
superstitions. 

He  held  the  surging  crowd  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 
They  yelled,  laughed,  howled,  or  wept  as  he  willed. 

Now  he  painted  in  burning  words  the  imaginary  hor 
rors  of  slavery  until  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks  and 
he  wept  at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  Every  dusky 
hearer  burst  into  tears  and  moans. 

He  stopped,  suddenly  brushed  the  tears  from  his  eyes, 
sprang  to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  threw  both  arms  above 
his  head  and  shouted: 

"Hosannah  to  the  Lord  God  Almighty  for  Emancipa 
tion!" 

Instantly  five  thousand  negroes,  as  one  man,  were  on 
then*  feet,  shouting  and  screaming.  Their  shouts  rose 
in  unison,  swelled  Into  a  thunder  peal,  and  died  away  as 
one  voice. 

Dead  silence  followed,  and  every  eye  was  again  riveted 
on  Lynch.  For  two  hours  the  doctor  sat  transfixed, 


The  Riot  in  the  Master's  Hall  275 

listening  and  watching  him  sway  the  vast  audience  with 
hypnotic  power. 

There  was  not  one  note  of  hesitation  or  of  doubt.  It 
was  the  challenge  of  race  against  race  to  mortal  combat. 
His  closing  words  again  swept  every  negro  from  his  seat 
and  melted  every  voice  into  a  single  frenzied  shout: 

"Within  five  years,"  he  cried,  "the  intelligence  and  the 
wealth  of  this  mighty  state  will  be  transferred  to  the 
Negro  race.  Lift  up  your  heads.  The  world  is  yours. 
Take  it.  Here  and  now  I  serve  notice  on  every  white 
man  who  breathes  that  I  am  as  good  as  he  is.  I  demand, 
and  I  am  going  to  have,  the  privilege  of  going  to  see  him 
in  his  house  or  his  hotel,  eating  with  him  and  sleeping 
with  him,  and  when  I  see  fit,  to  take  his  daughter  in 
marriage ! " 

As  the  doctor  emerged  from  the  stifling  crowd  with  his 
friend,  he  drew  a  deep  breath  of  fresh  air,  took  from  his 
pocket  his  conservative  memorial,  picked  it  into  little  bits, 
and  scattered  them  along  the  street  as  he  walked  in  silence 
back  to  his  hotel. 


CHAPTER    IX 
AT  LOVER'S  LEAP 

IN  spite  of  the  pitiful  collapse  of  old  Stoneman  under 
his  stroke  of  paralysis,  his  children  still  saw  the 
unconquered  soul  shining  in  his  colourless  eyes. 
They  had  both  been  on  the  point  of  confessing  their  love- 
affairs  to  him  and  joining  the  inevitable  struggle  when  he 
was  stricken.  They  knew  only  too  well  that  he  would  not 
consent  to  a  dual  alliance  with  the  Camerons  under  the 
conditions  of  fierce  hatreds  and  violence  into  which  the 
state  had  drifted.  They  were  too  high-minded  to  con 
sider  a  violation  of  his  wishes  while  thus  helpless,  with  his 
strange  eyes  following  them  about  in  childlike  eagerness. 
His  weakness  was  mightier  than  his  iron  will. 

So,  for  eighteen  months,  while  he  slowly  groped  out  of 
mental  twilight,  each  had  waited — Elsie  with  a  tender 
faith  struggling  with  despair,  and  Phil  in  a  torture  of 
uncertainty  and  fear. 

In  the  meantime,  the  young  Northerner  had  become  as 
radical  in  his  sympathies  with  the  Southern  people  as  his 
father  had  ever  been  against  them.  This  power  of  as 
similation  has  always  been  a  mark  of  Southern  genius. 
The  sight  of  the  Black  Hand  on  their  throats  now  roused 
his  righteous  indignation.  The  patience  with  which  they 
endured  was  to  him  amazing.  The  Southerner  he  had 

276 


At  Lover's  Leap  277 

found  to  be  the  last  man  on  earth  to  become  a  revolutionist. 
All  his  traits  were  against  it.  His  genius  for  command, 
the  deep  sense  of  duty  and  honour,  his  hospitality,  his 
deathless  love  of  home,  his  supreme  constancy  and  sense 
Df  civic  unity,  all  combined  to  make  him  ultraconserva- 
tive.  He  began  now  to  see  that  it  was  reverence  for 
authority  as  expressed  in  the  Constitution  under  which 
slavery  was  established  which  made  Secession  inevitable. 

Besides,  the  laziness  and  incapacity  of  the  Negro  had 
been  more  than  he  could  endure.  With  no  ties  of  tradition 
or  habits  of  life  to  bind  him,  he  simply  refused  to  tolerate 
them.  In  this  feeling  "Elsie  had  grown  early  to  sym 
pathise.  She  discharged  Aunt  Cindy  for  feeding  her  chil 
dren  from  the  kitchen,  and  brought  a  cook  and  house  girl 
from  the  North,  while  Phil  would  employ  only  white  men 
in  any  capacity. 

In  the  desolation  of  Negro  rule,  the  Cameron  farm  had 
become  worthless.  The  taxes  had  more  than  absorbed 
the  income,  and  the  place  was  only  kept  from  execution 
by  the  indomitable  energy  of  Mrs.  Cameron,  who  made 
the  hotel  pay  enough  to  carry  the  interest  on  a  mortgage 
which  was  increasing  from  season  to  season. 

The  doctor's  practise  was  with  him  a  divine  calling. 
He  never  sent  bills  to  his  patients.  They  paid  something 
if  they  had  it.  Now  they  had  nothing. 

Ben's  law  practice  was  large  for  his  age  and  experi 
ence,  but  his  clients  had  no  money. 

While  the  Camerons  were  growing,  each  day,  poorer, 
Phil  was  becoming  rich.  His  genius,  skill,  and  enter 
prise  had  been  quick  to  see  the  possibilities  of  the  water- 


278  The  Clansman 

power.  The  old  Eagle  cotton  mills  had  been  burned 
during  the  war.  Phil  organised  the  Eagle  &  Phoenix  Com 
pany,  interested  Northern  capitalists,  bought  the  falls, 
and  erected  two  great  mills,  the  dim  hum  of  whose 
spindles  added  a  new  note  to  the  river's  music.  Eager, 
swift,  modest,  his  head  full  of  ideas,  his  heart  full  of 
faith,  he  had  pressed  forward  to  success. 

As  the  old  Commoner's  mind  began  to  clear,  and  his 
recovery  was  sure,  Phil  determined  to  press  his  suit  for 
Margaret's  hand  to  an  issue. 

Ben  had  dropped  a  hint  of  an  interview  of  the  Rev. 
Hugh  McAlpin  with  Dr.  Cameron,  which  had  thrown 
Phil  into  a  cold  sweat. 

He  hurried  to  the  hotel  to  ask  Margaret  to  drive  with 
him  that  afternoon.  He  would  stop  at  Lover's  Leap  and 
settle  the  question. 

He  met  the  preacher,  just  emerging  from  the  door, 
calm,  handsome,  serious,  and  Margaret  by  his  side.  The 
dark-haired  beauty  seemed  strangely  serene.  What 
could  it  mean?  His  heart  was  in  his  throat.  Was  he 
too  late?  Wreathed  in  smiles  when  the  preacher  had 
gone,  the  girl's  face  was  a  riddle  he  could  not  solve. 

To  his  joy,  she  consented  to  go. 

As  he  left  in  his  trim  little  buggy  for  the  hotel,  he 
stooped  and  kissed  Elsie,  whispering: 

"Make  an  offering  on  the  altar  of  love  for  me,  Sis!" 

"You're  too  slow.  The  prayers  of  all  the  saints  will 
not  save  you!"  she  replied  with  a  laugh,  throwing  him  a 
kiss  as  he  disappeared  in  the  dust. 

As  they  drove  through  the  great  forest  on  the  cliffs,  over- 


At  Lover's  Leap  279 

looking  the  river,  the  Southern  world  seemed  lit  with  new 
splendour  to-day  for  the  Northerner.  His  heart  beat 
with  a  strange  courage.  The  odour  of  the  pines,  their 
sighing  music,  the  subtone  of  the  falls  below,  the  subtle 
life-giving  perfume  of  the  fullness  of  summer,  the  splen 
dour  of  the  sun  gleaming  through  the  deep  foliage,  and  the 
sweet  sensuous  air,  all  seemed  incarnate  in  the  calm 
lovely  face  and  gracious  figure  beside  him. 

They  took  their  seat  on  the  old  rustic  built  against  the 
beech,  which  was  the  last  tree  on  the  brink  of  the  cliff. 
A  hundred  feet  below  flowed  the  river,  rippling  softly 
along  a  narrow  strip  of  sand  which  its  current  had  thrown 
against  the  rocks.  The  ledge  of  towering  granite 
formed  a  cave  eighty  feet  in  depth  at  the  water's  edge. 
From  this  projecting  wall,  tradition  said  a  young  Indian 
princess  once  leaped  with  her  lover,  fleeing  from  the  wrath 
of  a  cruel  father  who  had  separated  them.  The  cave  be 
low  was  inaccessible  from  above,  being  reached  by  a  nar 
row  footpath  along  the  river's  edge  when  entered  a  mile 
down-stream. 

The  view  from  the  seat,  under  the  beech,  was  one  of 
marvellous  beauty.  For  miles,  the  broad  river  rolled  in 
calm  shining  glory  seaward,  its  banks  fringed  with  cane 
and  trees,  while  fields  of  corn  and  cotton  spread  in  waving 
green  toward  the  distant  hills  and  blue  mountains  of  the 
west. 

Every  tree  on  this  cliff  was  cut  with  the  initials  of  gen 
erations  of  lovers  from  Piedmont. 

They  sat  in  silence  for  awhile.  Margaret  idly  playing 


280  The  Clansman 

with  a  flower  she  had  picked  by  the  pathway,  and  Phil 
watching  her  devoutly. 

The  Southern  sun  had  tinged  her  face  the  reddish 
warm  hue  of  ripened  fruit,  doubly  radiant  by  contrast 
with  her  wealth  of  dark-brown  hair.  The  lustrous  glance 
of  her  eyes,  half  veiled  by  then1  long  lashes,  and  the  grace 
ful,  careless  pose  of  her  stately  figure  held  him  enraptured. 
Her  dress  of  airy,  azure  blue,  so  becoming  to  her  dark 
beauty,  gave  Phil  the  impression  of  the  eiderdown  feathers 
of  some  rare  bird  of  the  tropics.  He  felt  that  if  he  dared 
to  touch  her  she  might  lift  her  wings  and  sail  over  the 
cliff  into  the  sky  and  forget  to  light  again  at  his  side. 

"I  am  going  to  ask  a  very  bold  and  impertinent  question, 
Miss  Margaret,"  Phil  said  with  resolution.  "May  I?" 

Margaret  smiled  incredulously. 

"I'll  risk  your  impertinence,  and  decide  as  to  its  bold 
ness." 

"Tell  me,  please,  what  that  preacher  said  to  you  to 
day." 

Margaret  looked  away,  unable  to  suppress  the  merri 
ment  that  played  about  her  eyes  and  mouth. 

"Will  you  never  breathe  it  to  a  soul,  if  I  do?" 

"Never." 

"Honest  Injun,  here  on  the  sacred  altar  of  the  prin 
cess?" 

"On  my  honour." 

*"  "Then  I'll  tell  you,"  she  said,  biting  her  lips  to  keep 
back  a  laugh.  "Mr.  McAlpin  is  very  handsome  and  elo 
quent.  I  have  always  thought  him  the  best  preacher  we 
have  ever  had  in  Piedmont " 


At  Lover's  Leap  281 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Phil  interrupted  with  a  frown. 

"He  is  very  pious,"  she  went  on  evenly,  "and  seeks 
Divine  guidance  in  prayer  in  everything  he  does.  He 
called  this  morning  to  see  me,  and  I  was  playing  for  him  in 
the  little  music-room  off  the  parlour,  when  he  suddenly 
closed  the  door  and  said: 

" '  Miss  Margaret,  I  am  going  to  take,  this  morning,  the 
most  important  step  of  my  life ' 

"Of  course,  I  hadn't  the  remotest  idea  what  he 
meant 

"'Will  you  join  me  in  a  word  of  prayer?*  he  asked,  and 
knelt  right  down.  I  was  accustomed,  of  course,  to  kneel 
with  him  in  family  worship  at  his  pastoral  calls,  and  so 
from  habit  I  slipped  to  one  knee  by  the  piano-stool,  won 
dering  what  on  earth  he  was  about.  When  he  prayed 
with  fervour  for  the  Lord  to  bless  the  great  love  with  which 
he  hoped  to  hallow  my  life — I  giggled.  It  broke  up  the 
meeting.  He  rose  and  asked  me  to  marry  him.  I  told 
him  the  Lord  hadn't  revealed  it  to  me " 

Phil  seized  her  hand  and  held  it  firmly.  The  smile 
died  from  the  girl's  face,  her  hand  trembled,  and  the  rose- 
tint  on  her  cheeks  flamed  to  scarlet. 

"Margaret,  my  own,  I  love  you,"  he  cried  with  joy. 
"You  could  have  told  that  story  only  to  the  one  man  whom 
you  love — is  it  not  true?" 

"Yes.  I've  loved  you  always,"  said  the  low  sweet 
voice. 

"Always?"  asked  Phil  through  a  tear. 

"Before  I  saw  you,  when  they  told  me  you  were  as  Ben's 


282  The  Clansman 

twin  brother,  my  heart  began  to  sing  at  the  sound  of  your 
name " 

"Call  it,"  he  whispered. 

"Phil,  my  sweetheart!"  she  said  with  a  laugh. 

"How  tender  and  homelike  the  music  of  your  voice! 
The  world  has  never  seen  the  match  of  your  gracious 
Southern  womanhood!  Snow-bound  in  the  North,  I 
dreamed,  as  a  child,  of  this  world  of  eternal  sunshine. 
And  now  every  memory  and  dream  I've  found 
in  you." 

"And  you  won't  be  disappointed  in  my  simple  ideal 
that  finds  its  all  within  a  home?" 

"No.  I  love  the  old-fashioned  dream  of  the  South. 
Maybe  you  have  enchanted  me,  but  I  love  these  green 
hills  and  mountains,  these  rivers  musical  with  cascade 
and  fall,  these  solemn  forests — but  for  the  Black  Curse, 
the  South  would  be  to-day  the  garden  of  the  world!" 

"And  you  will  help  our  people  lift  this  curse?"  softly 
asked  the  girl,  nestling  closer  to  his  side. 

"Yes,  dearest,  thy  people  shall  be  mine!  Had  I  a 
thousand  wrongs  to  cherish,  I'd  forgive  them  all  for  your 
sake.  I'll  help  you  build  here  a  new  South  on  all  that's 
good  and  noble  in  the  old,  until  its  dead  fields  blossom 
again,  its  harbours  bristle  with  ships,  and  the  hum  of  a 
thousand  industries  make  music  in  every  valley.  I'd 
sing  to  you  in  burning  verse  if  I  could,  but  it  is  not  my 
way.  I  have  been  awkward  and  slow  in  love,  perhaps — 
but  I'll  be  swift  in  your  service.  I  dream  to  make  dead 
stories  and  wood  live  and  breathe  for  you,  of  victories  wrung 
from  Nature  that  are  yours.  My  poems  will  be  deeds,  my 


At  Lover's  Leap  283 

flowers  the  hard-earned  wealth  that  has  a  soul,  which  I 
shall  lay  at  your  feet." 

"Who  said  my  lover  was  dumb?"  she  sighed,  with  a 
twinkle  in  her  shining  eyes.  "You  must  introduce  me 
to  your  father  soon.  He  must  like  me  as  my  father  does 
you,  or  our  dream  can  never  come  true." 

A  pain  gripped  Phil's  heart,  but  he  answered,  bravely: 

"I  will.     He  can't  help  loving  you." 

They  stood  on  the  rustic  seat  to  carve  their  initials 
within  a  circle,  high  on  the  old  beechwood  book  of  love. 

"May  I  write  it  out  in  full — Margaret  Cameron — 
Philip  Stoneman?"  he  asked. 

"  No — only  the  initials  now — the  full  names  when  you've 
seen  my  father  and  I've  seen  yours.  Jeannie  Campbell 
and  Henry  Lenoir  were  once  written  thus  in  full,  and 
many  a  lover  has  looked  at  that  circle  and  prayed  for  hap 
piness  like  theirs.  You  can  see  there  a  new  one  cut  over 
the  old,  the  bark  has  filled,  and  written  on  the  fresh  page 
is  'Marion  Lenoir'  with  the  blank  below  for  her  lover's 
name." 

Phil  looked  at  the  freshly  cut  circle  and  laughed: 

"I  wonder  if  Marion  or  her  mother  did  that?" 

"Her  mother,  of  course." 

"I  wonder  whose  will  be  the  lucky  name  some  day 
within  it?"  said  Phil,  musingly,  as  he  finished  his  own. 


CHAPTER  X 
A  NIGHT   HAWK 

WHEN  the  old  Commoner's  private  physician 
had  gone  and  his  mind  had  fully  cleared,  he 
would  sit  for  hours  in  the  sunshine  of  the  vine- 
clad  porch,  asking  Elsie  of  the  village,  its  life,  and  its  peo 
ple.  He  smiled  good-naturedly  at  her  eager  sympathy 
for  their  sufferings  as  at  the  enthusiasm  of  a  child  who 
could  not  understand.  He  had  come  possessed  by  a 
great  idea — events  must  submit  to  it.  Her  assurance 
that  the  poverty  and  losses  of  the  people  were  far  in  ex 
cess  of  the  worst  they  had  known  during  the  war  was  too 
absurd  even  to  secure  his  attention. 

He  had  refused  to  know  any  of  the  people,  ignoring  the 
existence  of  Elsie's  callers.  But  he  had  fallen  in  love 
with  Marion  from  the  moment  he  had  seen  her.  The 
cold  eye  of  the  old  fox-hunter  kindled  with  the  fire  of  his 
forgotten  youth  at  the  sight  of  this  beautiful  girl,  seated 
on  the  glistening  back  of  the  mare  she  had  saved  from 
death. 

As  she  rode  through  the  village,  every  boy  lifted  his  hat 
as  to  passing  royalty,  and  no  one,  old  or  young,  could 
allow  her  to  pass  without  a  cry  of  admiration.  Her  ex 
quisite  figure  had  developed  into  the  full  tropic  splendour 
of  Southern  girlhood. 

284 


A  Night  Hawk  285 

She  had  rejected  three  proposals  from  ardent  lovers, 
on  one  of  whom  her  mother  had  quite  set  her  heart.  A 
great  fear  had  grown  in  Mrs.  Lenoir's  mind  lest  she  were 
in  love  with  Ben  Cameron.  Sh«  slipped  her  arm  around 
her  one  day  and  timidly  asked  her. 

A  faint  flush  tinged  Marion's  face  up  to  the  roots 
of  her  delicate  blonde  hair,  and  she  answered,  with  a 
quick  laugh: 

"Mama,  how  silly  you  are!  You  know  I've  always 
been  in  love  with  Ben — since  I  can  first  remember.  I 
know  he  is  in  love  with  Elsie  Stoneman.  I  am  too  young, 
the  world  too  beautiful,  and  life  too  sweet  to  grieve  over 
my  first  baby  love.  I  expect  to  dance  with  him  at  his 
wedding,  then  meet  my  fate  and  build  my  own  nest." 

Old  Stoneman  begged  that  she  come  every  day  to  see 
him.  He  never  tired  praising  her  to  Elsie.  As  she 
walked  gracefully  up  to  the  house  one  afternoon,  hold 
ing  Hugh  by  the  hand,  he  said  to  Elsie: 

"Next  to  you,  my  dear,  she  is  the  most  charming 
creature  I  ever  saw.  Her  tenderness  for  everything  that 
needs  help  touches  the  heart  of  an  old  lame  man  in  a 
very  soft  spot." 

"I've  never  seen  any  one  who  could  resist  her,"  Elsie 
answered.  "Her  gloves  may  be  worn,  her  feet  clad  in  old 
shoes,  yet  she  is  always  neat,  graceful,  dainty,  and  serene. 
No  wonder  her  mother  worships  her." 

Sam  Ross,  her  simple  friend,  had  stopped  at  the  gate, 
and  looked  over  into  the  lawn  as  if  afraid  to  come  in. 

When  Marion  saw  Sam,  she  turned  back  to  the  gate 
to  invite  him  in.  The  keeper  of  the  poor,  a  vicious- 


286  The  Clansman 

looking  negro,  suddenly  confronted  him,  and  he  shrank 
in  terror  close  to  the  girl's  side. 

"What  you  doin'  here,  sah?"  the  black  keeper  railed. 
"Ain't  I  done  tole  you  'bout  runnin'  away?" 

"You  let  him  alone,"  Marion  cried. 

The  negro  pushed  her  roughly  from  his  side  and  knocked 
Sam  down.  The  girl  screamed  for  help,  and  old  Stone- 
man  hobbled  down  the  steps,  following  Elsie. 

When  they  reached  the  gate,  Marion  was  bending  over 
the  prostrate  form. 

"Oh,  my,  my,  I  believe  he's  killed  him!"  she  wailed. 

"Run  for  the  doctor,  sonny,  quick,"  Stoneman  said  to 
Hugh.  The  boy  darted  away  and  brought  Dr.  Cam 
eron. 

"  How  dare  you  strike  that  man,  you  devil  ?  "  thundered 
the  old  statesman. 

"  'Case  I  tole  'im  ter  stay  home  en  do  de  wuk  I  put 
'im  at,  en  he  all  de  time  runnin'  off  here  ter  git  sumfin' 
ter  eat.  I  gwine  frail  de  life  outen  'im,  ef  he  doan 
min'  me." 

"  Well,  you  make  tracks  back  to  the  Poor  House.  I'll 
attend  to  this  man,  and  I'll  have  you  arrested  for  this 
before  night,"  said  Stoneman,  with  a  scowl. 

The  black  keeper  laughed  as  he  left. 

"Not  'less  you'se  er  bigger  man  dan  Gubner  Silas 
Lynch,  you  won't!" 

When  Dr.  Cameron  had  restored  Sam,  and  dressed  the 
wound  on  his  head  where  he  had  struck  a  stone  in  falling, 
Stoneman  insisted  that  the  boy  be  put  to  bed. 

Turning  to  Dr.  Cameron,  he  asked s 


A  Night  Hawk  287 

"  Why  should  they  put  a  brute  like  this  in  charge  of  the 
poor?" 

"That's  a  large  question,  sir,  at  this  time,"  said  the 
doctor,  politely,  "  and  now  that  you  have  asked  it,  I  have 
some  things  I've  been  longing  for  an  opportunity  to  say 
to  you." 

"Be  seated,  sir,"  the  old  Commoner  answered,  "I  shall 
be  glad  to  hear  them." 

Elsie's  heart  leaped  with  joy  over  the  possible  outcome 
of  this  appeal,  and  she  left  the  room  with  a  smile  for  the 
doctor. 

"First,  allow  me,"  said  the  Southerner,  pleasantly, 
"to  express  my  sorrow  at  your  long  illness,  and  my  pleas 
ure  at  seeing  you  so  well.  Your  children  have  won  the 
love  of  all  our  people  and  have  had  our  deepest  sympathy 
in  your  illness." 

Stoneman  muttered  an  inaudible  reply,  and  the  doctor 
went  on: 

"Your  question  brings  up,  at  once,  the  problem  of  the 
misery  and  degradation  into  which  our  country  has  sunk 
under  Negro  rule " 

Stoneman  smiled  coldly  and  interrupted: 

"Of  course,  you  understand  my  position  in  politics, 
Doctor  Cameron — I  am  a  Radical  Republican." 

"So  much  the  better,"  was  the  response.  "I  have  been 
longing  for  months  to  get  your  ear.  Your  word  will  be  all 
the  more  powerful  if  raised  in  our  behalf.  The  Negro  is 
the  master  of  our  state,  county,  city,  and  town  govern 
ments.  Every  school,  college,  hospital,  asylum,  and  poor- 
house  is  his  prey.  What  you  have  seen  is  but  a  sample. 


288  The  Clansman 

Negro  insolence  grows  beyond  endurance.  Their  women 
are  taught  to  insult  their  old  mistresses  and  mock  their 
poverty  as  they  pass  in  their  old,  faded  dresses.  Yes 
terday  a  black  driver  struck  a  white  child  of  six  with 
his  whip,  and  when  the  mother  protested,  she  was  ar 
rested  by  a  negro  policeman,  taken  before  a  negro  magis 
trate,  and  fined  $10  for  'insulting  a  freedman.'" 

Stoneman  frowned :  "  Such  things  must  be  very  excep 
tional." 

"They  are  every-day  occurrences  and  cease  to  excite 
comment.  Lynch,  the  Lieutenant- Governor,  who  has 
bought  a  summer  home  here,  is  urging  this  campaign  of 
insult  with  deliberate  purpose " 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "I  can't  think  the 
Lieutenant-Governor  guilty  of  such  petty  villainy." 

"Our  school  commissioner,"  the  doctor  continued,  "is 
a  negro  who  can  neither  read  nor  write.  The  black  grand 
jury  last  week  discharged  a  negro  for  stealing  cattle  and 
indicted  the  owner  for  false  imprisonment.  No  such  rate 
of  taxation  was  ever  imposed  on  a  civilised  people.  A 
tithe  of  it  cost  Great  Britain  her  colonies.  There  are 
5,000  homes  in  this  county — 2,900  of  them  are  advertised 
for  sale  by  the  sheriff  to  meet  his  tax  bills.  This  house 
will  be  sold  next  court  day " 

Stoneman  looked  up  sharply.     "Sold  for  taxes ?" 

"Yes;  with  the  farm  which  has  always  been  Mrs. 
Lenoir's  support.  In  part  her  loss  came  from  the  cotton 
tax.  Congress,  in  addition  to  the  desolation  of  war,  and 
the  ruin  of  Black  rule,  has  wrung  from  the  cotton  farmers 
of  the  South  a  tax  of  $67,000,000.  Every  dollar  of  this 


A  Night  Hawk  289 

money  bears  the  stain  of  the  blood  of  starving  people. 
They  are  ready  to  give  up,  or  to  spring  some  desperate 
scheme  of  resistance " 

The  old  man  lifted  his  massive  head  and  his  great  jaws 
came  together  with  a  snap: 

"Resistance  to  the  authority  of  the  National  Govern 
ment?" 

"No;  resistance  to  the  travesty  of  government  and  the 
mockery  of  civilisation  under  which  we  are  being  throttled ! 
The  bayonet  is  now  in  the  hands  of  a  brutal  Negro  militia. 
The  tyranny  of  military  martinets  was  child's  play  to  this. 
As  I  answered  your  call  this  morning,  I  was  stopped  and 
turned  back  in  the  street  by  the  drill  of  a  company  of 
negroes  under  the  command  of  a  vicious  scoundrel  named 
Gus  who  was  my  former  slave.  He  is  the  captain  of  this 
company.  Eighty  thousand  armed  Negro  troops,  an 
swerable  to  no  authority  save  the  savage  instincts  of  their 
officers,  terrorise  the  state.  Every  white  company  has 
been  disarmed  and  disbanded  by  our  scalawag  Governor. 
I  tell  you,  sir,  we  are  walking  on  the  crust  of  a  volcano ! " 

Old  Stoneman  scowled,  as  the  doctor  rose  and  walked 
nervously  to  the  window  and  back. 

"An  appeal  from  you  to  the  conscience  of  the  North 
might  save  us,"  he  went  on,  eagerly.  "Black  hordes  of 
former  slaves,  with  the  intelligence  of  children  and  the 
instincts  of  savages,  armed  with  modern  rifles,  parade  daily 
in  front  of  their  unarmed  former  masters.  A  white  man 
has  no  right  a  negro  need  respect.  The  children  of  the 
breed  of  men  who  speak  the  tongue  of  Burns  and  Shake 
speare,  Drake  and  Raleigh,  have  been  disarmed  and  made 


290  The  Clansman 

subject  to  the  black  spawn  of  an  African  jungle!  Can 
human  flesh  endure  it?  When  Goth  and  Vandal  bar 
barians  overran  Rome,  the  Negro  was  the  slave  of  the 
Roman  Empire.  The  savages  of  the  North  blew  out  the 
light  of  Ancient  Civilisation,  but  in  all  the  dark  ages  which 
followed  they  never  dreamed  the  leprous  infamy  of  raising 
a  black  slave  to  rule  over  his  former  master!  No  people 
in  the  history  of  the  world  have  ever  before  been  so  basely 
betrayed,  so  wantonly  humiliated  and  degraded!" 

Stoneman  lifted  his  head  in  amazement  at  the  burst  of 
passionate  intensity  with  which  the  Southerner  poured 
out  his  protest. 

"For  a  Russian  to  rule  a  Pole,"  he  went  on,  "a  Turk  to 
rule  a  Greek,  or  an  Austrian  to  dominate  an  Italian,  is 
hard  enough,  but  for  a  thick-lipped,  flat-nosed,  spindle- 
shanked  negro,  exuding  his  nauseating  animal  odour,  to 
shout  in  derision  over  the  hearths  and  homes  of  white  men 
and  women  is  an  atrocity  too  monstrous  for  belief.  Our 
people  are  yet  dazed  by  its  horror.  My  God!  when  they 
realise  its  meaning,  whose  arm  will  be  strong  enough  to 
hold  them?" 

"I  should  think  the  South  was  sufficiently  amused  with 
resistance  to  authority,"  interrupted  Stoneman. 

"Even  so.  Yet  there  is  a  moral  force  at  the  bottom  of 
every  living  race  of  men.  The  sense  of  right,  the  feeling  of 
racial  destiny — these  are  unconquered  and  unconquerable 
forces.  Every  man  in  South  Carolina  to-day  is  glad  that 
slavery  is  dead.  The  war  was  not  too  great  a  price  for  us 
to  pay  for  the  lifting  of  its  curse.  And  now  to  ask  a  South 
erner  to  be  the  slave  of  a  slave " 


A  iNight  Hawk  291 

"And  yet,  Doctor,"  said  Stoneman,  coolly,  "manhood 
suffrage  is  the  one  eternal  thing  fixed  in  the  nature  of 
Democracy.  It  is  inevitable." 

"At  the  price  of  racial  life?  Never!"  said  the  South 
erner,  with  fiery  emphasis.  "This  Republic  is  great,  not 
by  reason  of  the  amount  of  dirt  we  possess,  the  size  of  our 
census  roll,  or  our  voting  register — we  are  great  because 
of  the  genius  of  the  race  of  pioneer  white  freemen  who 
settled  this  continent,  dared  the  might  of  kings,  and  made 
a  wilderness  the  home  of  Freedom.  Our  future  depends 
on  the  purity  of  this  racial  stock.  The  grant  of  the  ballot 
to  these  millions  of  semi-savages  and  the  riot  of  debauchery 
which  has  followed  are  crimes  against  human  progress." 

"Yet  may  we  not  train  him  ?"  asked  Stoneman. 

"To  a  point,  yes,  and  then  sink  to  his  level  if  you  walk 
as  his  equal  in  physical  contact  with  him.  His  race  is  not 
an  infant;  it  is  a  degenerate — older  than  yours  in  time.  At 
last  we  are  face  to  face  with  the  man  whom  slavery 
concealed  with  its  rags.  Suffrage  is  but  the  new  paper 
cloak  with  which  the  Demagogue  has  sought  to  hide  the 
issue.  Can  we  assimilate  the  Negro  ?  The  very  question 
is  pollution.  In  Hayti  no  white  man  can  own  land.  Black 
dukes  and  marquises  drive  over  them  and  swear  at  them 
for  getting  under  their  wheels.  Is  civilisation  a  patent 
cloak  with  which  law-tinkers  can  wrap  an  animal  and 
make  him  a  king?" 

"But  the  negro  must  be  protected  by  the  ballot,"  pro 
tested  the  statesman.  "The  humblest  man  must  have  the 
opportunity  to  rise.  The  real  issue  is  Democracy." 

"The  issue,  sir,  is  Civilisation!     Not  whether  a  negro 


292  The  Clansman 

shall  be  protected,  but  whether  Society  is  worth  saving 
from  barbarism." 

"The  statesman  can  educate,"  put  in  the  Commoner. 

The  doctor  cleared  his  throat  with  a  quick  little  nervous 
cough  he  was  in  the  habit  of  giving  when  deeply  moved. 

"Education,  sir,  is  the  development  of  that  which  is. 
Since  the  dawn  of  history  the  Negro  has  owned  the  Con 
tinent  of  Africa — rich  beyond  the  dream  of  poet's  fancy, 
crunching  acres  of  diamonds  beneath  his  bare  black  feet. 
Yet  he  never  picked  one  up  from  the  dust  until  a  white 
man  showed  to  him  its  glittering  light.  His  land  swarmed 
with  powerful  and  docile  animals,  yet  he  never  dreamed 
a  harness,  cart,  or  sled.  A  hunter  by  necessity,  he  never 
made  an  axe,  spear  or  arrow-head  worth  preserving  beyond 
the  moment  of  its  use.  He  lived  as  an  ox,  content  to  graze 
for  an  hour.  In  a  land  of  stone  and  timber  he  never 
sawed  a  foot  of  lumber,  carved  a  block,  or  built  a  house 
sare  of  broken  sticks  and  mud.  With  league  on  league 
of  ocean  strand  and  miles  of  inland  seas,  for  four  thou 
sand  years  he  watched  their  surface  ripple  under  the  wind, 
heard  the  thunder  of  the  surf  on  his  beach,  the  howl  of  the 
storm  over  his  head,  gazed  on  the  dim  blue  horizon  calling 
him  to  worlds  that  lie  beyond,  and  yet  he  never  dreamed  a 
sail !  He  lived  as  his  fathers  lived — stole  his  food,  worked 
his  wife,  sold  his  children,  ate  his  brother,  content  to  drink, 
sing,  dance,  and  sport  as  the  ape ! 

"And  this  creature,  half-child,  half-animal,  the  sport  of 
impulse,  whim  and  conceit, '  pleased  with  a  rattle,  tickled 
with  a  straw/  a  being  who,  left  to  his  will,  roams  at  night 
and  sleeps  in  the  day,  whose  speech  knows  no  word  of 


A  Night  Hawk  293 

love,  whose  passions,  once  aroused,  are  as  the  fury  of  the 
tiger — they  have  set  this  thing  to  rule  over  the  Southern 
people " 

The  doctor  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face  livid,  his  eyes 
blazing  with  emotion.  "Merciful  God — it  surpasses 
human  belief!" 

He  sank  exhausted  in  his  chair,  and,  extending  his  hand 
in  an  eloquent  gesture,  continued: 

"Surely,  surely,  sir,  the  people  of  the  North  are  not 
mad  ?  We  can  yet  appeal  to  the  conscience  and  the  brain 
of  our  brethren  of  a  common  race?" 

Stoneman  was  silent  as  if  stunned.  Deep  down  in  his 
strange  soul  he  was  drunk  with  the  joy  of  a  triumphant 
vengeance  he  had  carried  locked  in  the  depths  of  his 
being,  yet  the  intensity  of  this  man's  suffering  for  a 
people's  cause  surprised  and  distressed  him  as  all  indi 
vidual  pain  hurt  him. 

Dr.  Cameron-  rose,  stung  by  his  silence,  and  the  con 
sciousness  of  the  hostility  with  which  Stoneman  had 
wrapped  himself. 

"Pardon  my  apparent  rudeness,  Doctor,"  he  said,  at 
length,  extending  his  hand.  "The  violence  of  your  feeling 
stunned  me  for  the  moment.  I'm  obliged  to  you  for 
speaking.  I  like  a  plain-spoken  man.  I  am  sorry  to 
learn  of  the  stupidity  of  the  former  military  commandant 
in  this  town " 

"My  personal  wrongs,  sir,"  the  doctor  broke  in,  "are 
nothing!" 

"  I  am  sorry,  too,  about  these  individual  cases  of  suffer 
ing.  They  are  the  necessary  incidents  of  a  great  upheaval. 


294 


The  Clansman 


But  may  it  not  all  come  out  right  in  the  end  ?  After  the 
Dark  Ages,  day  broke  at  last.  We  have  the  printing  press, 
railroad  and  telegraph — a  revolution  in  human  affairs. 
We  may  do  in  years  what  it  took  ages  to  do  in  the  past. 
May  not  the  Black  man  speedily  emerge  ?  Who  knows  ? 
An  appeal  to  the  North  will  be  a  waste  of  breath.  This 
experiment  is  going  to  be  made.  It  is  written  in  the  book 
of  Fate.  But  I  like  you.  Come  to  see  me  again." 

Dr.  Cameron  left  with  a  heavy  heart.  He  had  grown  a 
great  hope  in  this  long-wished-for  appeal  to  Stoneman. 
It  had  come  to  his  ears  that  the  old  man,  who  had  dwelt 
as  one  dead  in  their  village,  was  a  power. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  the  doctor  walked  slowly  back 
to  the  hotel.  As  he  passed  the  armory  of  the  black  militia, 
they  were  still  drilling  under  the  command  of  Gus.  The 
windows  were  open,  through  which  came  the  steady  tramp 
of  heavy  feet  and  the  cry  of  "  Hep !  Hep !  Hep ! "  from  the 
Captain's  thick  cracked  lips.  The  full-dress  officer's 
uniform,  with  its  gold  epaulets,  yellow  stripes,  and  glisten 
ing  sword,  only  accentuated  the  coarse  bestiality  of  Gus. 
His  huge  jaws  seemed  to  hide  completely  the  gold  braid 
on  his  collar. 

The  doctor  watched,  with  a  shudder,  his  black  bloated 
face  covered  with  perspiration  and  the  huge  hand  grip 
ping  his  sword. 

They  suddenly  halted  in  double  ranks  and  Gus  jelled : 

"Odah,  arms!" 

The  butts  of  then-  rifles  crashed  to  the  floor  with  pre 
cision,  and  they  were  allowed  to  break  ranks  for  a  brief 
rest. 


A  Night  Hawk  295 

They  sang  "John  Brown's  Body,"  and  as  its  echoes 
died  away  a  big  negro  swung  his  rifle  in  a  circle  over  his 
head,  shouting: 

"Here's  your  regulator  for  white  trash!  En  dey's 
nine  hundred  ob  'em  in  dis  county!" 

"Yas,  Lawd!"  howled  another. 

"We  got  'em  down  now  en  we  keep  'em  dar,  chile!" 
bawled  another. 

The  doctor  passed  on  slowly  to  the  hotel.  The  night 
was  dark,  the  streets  were  without  lights  under  their  pres 
ent  rulers,  and  the  stars  were  hidden  with  swift-flying 
clouds  which  threatened  a  storm.  As  he  passed  under 
the  boughs  of  an  oak  in  front  of  his  house,  a  voice  above 
him  whispered: 

"A  message  for  you,  sir." 

Had  the  wings  of  a  spirit  suddenly  brushed  his  cheek, 
he  would  not  have  been  more  startled. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  asked,  with  a  slight  tremor. 

"A  Night  Hawk  of  the  Invisible  Empire,  with  a  mes 
sage  from  the  Grand  Dragon  of  the  Realm,"  was  the  low 
answer,  as  he  thrust  a  note  in  the  doctor's  hand.  "I 
will  wait  for  your  answer." 

The  doctor  fumbled  to  his  office  on  the  corner  of  the 
lawn,  struck  a  match,  and  read: 

"A  great  Scotch-Irish  leader  of  the  South  from  Mem 
phis  is  here  to-night  and  wishes  to  see  you.  If  you  will 
meet  General  Forrest,  I  will  bring  him  to  the  hotel  in  fif 
teen  minutes.  Burn  this.  Ben." 

The  doctor  walked  quickly  back  to  the  spot  where  he 
had  heard  the  voice,  and  said: 


296  The  Clansman 

"I'll  see  him  with  pleasure." 

The  invisible  messenger  wheeled  his  horse,  and  in  a 
moment  the  echo  of  his  muffled  hoofs  had  died  away  in 
the  distance. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  BEAT  OF  A  SPARROW'S  WING 

DR.  CAMERON'S  appeal  had  left  the  old  Com 
moner  unshaken  in  his  idea.     There  could  be 
but  one  side  to  any  question  with  such  a  man, 
and  that  was  his  side.     He  would  stand  by  his  own  men 
too.     He  believed  in  his  own  forces.     The  bayonet  was 
essential    to    his    revolutionary    programme — hence    the 
hand  which  held  it  could   do  no  wrong.     Wrongs  were 
accidents  which  might  occur  under  any  system. 

Yet  in  no  way  did  he  display  the  strange  contradictions 
of  his  character  so  plainly  as  in  his  inability  to  hate  the 
individual  who  stood  for  the  idea  he  was  fighting  with 
maniac  fury.  He  liked  Dr.  Cameron  instantly,  though 
he  had  come  to  do  a  crime  that  would  send  him  into 
beggared  exile. 

Individual  suffering  he  could  not  endure.  In  this  the 
doctor's  appeal  had  startling  results. 

He  sent  for  Mrs.  Lenoir  and  Marion. 

"I  understand,  Madam,"  he  said,  gravely,  "that  your 
house  and  farm  are  to  be  sold  for  taxes  ? " 

"Yes,  sir;  we've  given  it  up  this  time.  Nothing  can 
be  done,"  was  the  hopeless  answer. 

"Would  you  consider  an  offer  of  twenty  dollars  an 
acre?" 

297 


298  The  Clansman 

"Nobody  would  be  fool  enough  to  offer  it.  You  can 
buy  all  the  land  in  the  county  for  a  dollar  an  acre.  It's 
not  worth  anything." 

"I  disagree  with  you,"  said  Stoneman,  cheerfully. 
"I  am  looking  far  ahead.  I  would  like  to  make  an  ex 
periment  here  with  Pennsylvania  methods  on  this  land. 
I'll  give  you  ten  thousand  dollars  cash  for  your  five  hundred 
acres  if  you  will  take  it." 

"You  don't  mean  it?"  Mrs.  Lenoir  gasped,  choking 
back  the  tears. 

"Certainly.  You  can  at  once  return  to  your  home, 
I'll  take  another  house,  and  invest  your  money  for  you  in 
good  Northern  securities." 

The  mother  burst  into  sobs,  unable  to  speak,  while 
Marion  threw  her  arms  impulsively  around  the  old 
man's  neck  and  kissed  him. 

His  cold  eyes  were  warmed  with  the  first  tear  they  had 
shed  in  years. 

He  moved  the  next  day  to  the  Ross  estate,  which  he 
rented,  had  Sam  brought  back  to  the  home  of  his  child 
hood  in  charge  of  a  good-natured  white  attendant,  and 
installed  in  one  of  the  little  cottages  on  the  lawn.  He 
ordered  Lynch  to  arrest  the  keeper  of  the  poor,  and  hold 
him  on  a  charge  of  assault  with  intent  to  kill,  awaiting 
the  action  of  the  Grand  Jury.  The  Lieutenant-Governor 
received  this  order  with  sullen  anger — yet  he  saw  to  its 
execution.  He  was  not  quite  ready  for  a  break  with  the 
man  who  had  made  him. 

Astonished  at  his  new  humour,  Phil  and  Elsie  hastened 
to  confess  to  him  their  love-affairs  and  ask  his  approval 


The  Beat  of  a  Sparrow's  'Wing  299 

of  their  choice.  His  reply  was  cautious,  yet  he  did  not 
refuse  his  consent.  He  advised  them  to  wait  a  few 
months,  allow  him  time  to  know  the  young  people,  and 
get  his  bearings  on  the  conditions  of  Southern  society. 
His  mood  of  tenderness  was  a  startling  revelation  to  them 
of  the  depth  and  intensity  of  his  love. 

When  Mrs.  Lenoir  returned  with  Marion  to  her  vine- 
clad  home,  she  spent  the  first  day  of  perfect  joy  since  the 
death  of  her  lover-husband.  The  deed  had  not  yet  been 
made  for  the  transfer  of  the  farm,  but  it  was  only  a  ques 
tion  of  legal  formality.  She  was  to  receive  the  money  in 
the  form  of  interest-bearing  securities  and  deliver  the  title 
on  the  following  morning. 

Arm  in,  arm,  mother  and  daughter  visited  again  each 
hallowed  spot,  with  the  sweet  sense  of  ownership.  The 
place  was  in  perfect  order.  Its  flowers  were  in  gorgeous 
bloom,  its  walks  clean  and  neat,  the  fences  painted,  and 
the  gates  swung  on  new  hinges. 

They  stood  with  their  arms  about  one  another,  watching 
the  sun  sink  behind  the  mountains,  with  tears  of  gratitude 
and  hope  stirring  their  souls. 

Ben  Cameron  strode  through  the  gate,  and  they  hur 
ried  to  meet  him,  with  cries  of  joy. 

"Just  dropped  in  a  minute  to  see  if  you  are  snug  for 
the  night?"  he  said. 

"Of  course,  snug  and  so  happy,  we've  been  hugging  one 
another  for  hours,"  said  the  mother.  "Oh,  Ben,  the 
clouds  have  lifted  at  last!" 

"Has  Aunt  Cindy  come  yet?"  he  asked. 


300  The  Clansman 

"No,  but  she'll  be  here  in  the  morning  to  get  break 
fast.  We  don't  want  anything  to  eat,"  she  answered. 

"Then  I'll  come  out  when  I'm  through  my  business, 
to-night,  and  sleep  in  the  house  to  keep  you  com 
pany." 

"Nonsense,"  said  the  mother,  "we  couldn't  think  of 
putting  you  to  the  trouble.  We've  spent  many  a  night 
here  alone." 

"But  not  in  the  past  two  years,"  he  said,  with  a  frown. 

"We're  not  afraid,"  Marion  said,  with  a  smile.  "Be 
sides,  we'd  keep  you  awake  all  night  with  our  laughter  and 
foolishness,  rummaging  through  the  house." 

"You'd  better  let  me,"  Ben  protested. 

"No,"  said  the  mother,  "we'll  be  happier  to-night  alone 
with  only  God's  eye  to  see  how  perfectly  silly  we  can  be. 
Come  and  take  supper  with  us  to-morrow  night.  Bring 
Elsie  and  her  guitar — I  don't  like  the  banjo — and  we'll 
have  a  little  love-feast  with  music  in  the  moonlight." 

"Yes,  do  that,"  cried  Marion.  "I  know  we  owe  this 
good  luck  to  her.  I  want  to  tell  her  how  much  I  love  her 
for  it." 

"Well,  if  you  insist  on  staying  alone,"  said  Ben,  re 
luctantly,  "I'll  bring  Miss  Elsie  to-morrow,  but  I  don't 
like  your  being  here  without  Aunt  Cindy  to-night." 

"Oh,  we're  all  right!"  laughed  Marion,  "but  what  I 
want  to  know  is  what  you  are  doing  out  so  late  every 
night  since  you've  come  home,  and  where  you  were  gone 
for  the  past  week?" 

"Important  business,"  he  answered,  soberly. 

"Business — I  expect!"  she  cried.     "Look  here,  Ben 


The  Beat  of  a  Sparrow's  Wing  301 

Cameron,  have  you  another  girl  somewhere,  you're  flirt 
ing  with?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  slowly,  coming  closer  and  his 
voice  dropping  to  a  whisper,  "and  her  name  is  Death." 

"Why,  Ben!"  Marion  gasped,  placing  her  trembling 
hand  unconsciously  on  his  arm,  a  faint  flush  mantling 
her  cheek  and  leaving  it  white. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  mother  in  low  tones. 

"Nothing  that  I  can  explain.  I  only  wish  to  warn  you 
both  never  to  ask  me  such  questions  before  any  one." 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Marion,  with  a  tremor.  "I 
didn't  think  it  serious." 

Ben  pressed  the  little  warm  hand,  watching  her  mouth 
quiver  with  a  smile  that  was  half  a  sigh,  as  he  answered: 

"You  know  I'd  trust  either  of  you  with  my  life,  but  I 
can't  be  too  careful." 

"We'll  remember,  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  mother. 
"Don't  forget,  then,  to-morrow — and  spend  the  evening 
with  us.  I  wish  I  had  one  of  Marion's  new  dresses  done. 
Poor  child,  she  has  never  had  a  decent  dress  in  her  life 
before.  You  know  I  never  look  at  my  pretty  baby 
grown  to  such  a  beautiful  womanhood  without  hearing 
Henry  say  over  and  over  again — 'Beauty  is  a  sign  of 
the  soul — the  body  is  the  soul!'" 

"Well,  I've  my  doubts  about  your  improving  her  with 
a  fine  dress,"  he  replied,  thoughtfully.  "I  don't  believe 
that  more  beautifully  dressed  women  ever  walked  the 
earth  than  our  girls  of  the  South  who  came  out  of  the  war 
clad  in  the  pathos  of  poverty,  smiling  bravely  through 


302  The  Clansman 

the  shadows,  bearing  themselves  as  queens  though  they 
wore  the  dress  of  the  shepherdess." 

"I'm  almost  tempted  to  kiss  you  for  that,  as  you  once 
took  advantage  of  me!"  said  Marion  with  enthusiasm. 

The  moon  had  risen  and  a  whippoorwill  was  chanting 
his  weird  song  on  the  lawn  as  Ben  left  them  leaning  on 
the  gate. 

It  was  past  midnight  before  they  finished  the  last 
touches  in  restoring  their  nest  to  its  old  homelike  appear 
ance  and  sat  down  happy  and  tired  in  the  room  in  which 
Marion  was  born,  brooding  and  dreaming  and  talking 
over  the  future. 

The  mother  was  hanging  on  the  words  of  her  daughter, 
all  the  baffled  love  of  the  dead  poet  husband,  her  griefs 
and  poverty  consumed  in  the  glowing  joy  of  new  hopes. 
Her  love  for  this  child  was  now  a  triumphant  passion, 
which  had  melted  her  own  being  into  the  object  of  wor 
ship,  until  the  soul  of  the  daughter  was  superimposed  on 
the  mother's  as  the  magnetised  by  the  magnetiser. 

"And  you'll  never  keep  a  secret  from  me,  dear?"  she 
asked  of  Marion. 

"Never." 

"You'll  tell  me  all  your  love-affairs?"  she  asked,  softly, 
as  she  drew  the  shining  blonde  head  down  on  her  shoulders. 

"Faithfully." 

"You  know  I've  been  afraid  sometimes  you  were 
keeping  something  back  from  me,  deep  down  hi  your 
heart — and  I'm  jealous.  You  didn't  refuse  Henry  Grier 
because  you  loved  Ben  Cameron — now,  did  you?" 


The  Beat  of  a  Sparrow's  Wing  303 

The  little  head  lay  still  before  she  answered: 

"How  many  times  must  I  tell  you,  Silly,  that  I've 
ioved  Ben  since  I  can  remember,  that  I  will  always  love 
him,  and  when  I  meet  my  fate,  at  last,  I  shall  boast  to  my 
children  of  my  sweet  girl  romance  with  the  Hero  of 
Piedmont,  and  they  shall  laugh  and  cry  with  me  over 
it " 

"What's  that?"  whispered  the  mother,  leaping  to  her 
feet. 

"I  heard  nothing,"  Marion  answered,  listening. 

"I  thought  I  heard  footsteps  on  the  porch." 

"Maybe  it's  Ben,  who  decided  to  come  anyhow," 
said  the  girl. 

"But  he'd  knock!"  whispered  the  mother. 

The  door  flew  open  with  a  crash,  and  four  black  brutes 
leaped  into  the  room,  Gus  in  the  lead,  with  a  revolver  in 
his  hand,  his  yellow  teeth  grinning  through  his  thick  lips. 

"  Scream,  now,  an'  I  blow  yer  brains  out,"  he  growled. 

Blanched  with  horror,  the  mother  sprang  before  Mar 
ion  with  a  shivering  cry: 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"  Not  you,"  said  Gus,  closing  the  blinds  and  handing 
a  rope  to  another  brute.  "Tie  de  ole  one  ter  de  bedpost." 

The  mother  screamed.  A  blow  from  a  black  fist  in  her 
mouth,  and  the  rope  was  tied. 

With  the  strength  of  despair  she  tore  at  the  cords,  half 
rising  to  her  feet,  while  with  mortal  anguish  she  gasped: 

"For  God's  sake,  spare  my  baby!  Do  as  you  will 
with  me,  and  kill  me — do  not  touch  her!" 

Again  the  huge  fist  swept  her  to  the  floor. 


304  The  Clansman 

Marion  staggered  against  the  wall,  her  face  white,  her 
delicate  lips  trembling  with  the  chill  of  a  fear  colder  than 
death. 

"We  have  no  money — the  deed  has  not  been  deliv 
ered,"  she  pleaded,  a  sudden  glimmer  of  hope  flashing 
in  her  blue  eyes. 

Gus  stepped  closer,  with  an  ugly  leer,  his  flat  nose  di 
lated,  his  sinister  bead-eyes  wide  apart  gleaming  ape-like, 
as  he  laughed: 

"We  ain't  atter  money!" 

The  girl  uttered  a  cry,  long,  tremulous,  heart-rending, 
piteous. 

A  single  tiger-spring,  and  the  black  claws  of  the  beast 
sank  into  the  soft  white  throat  and  she  was  still. 


CHAPTER  XII 
AT  THE  DAWN  OF  DAY 

IT  was  three  o'clock  before  Marion  regained  con 
sciousness,  crawled  to  her  mother,  and  crouched  in 
dumb  convulsions  in  her  arms. 

"What  can  we  do,  my  darling?"  the  mother  asked  at 
last. 

"Die! — thank  God,  we  have  the  strength  left  I" 

"Yes,  my  love,"  was  the  faint  answer. 

"No  one  must  ever  know.  We  will  hide  quickly 
every  trace  of  crime.  They  will  think  we  strolled  to 
Lover's  Leap  and  fell  over  the  cliff,  and  my  name  will 
always  be  sweet  and  clean — you  understand — come,  we 
must  hurry " 

With  swift  hands,  her  blue  eyes  shining  with  a  strange 
light,  the  girl  removed  the  shreds  of  torn  clothes,  bathed, 
and  put  on  the  dress  of  spotless  white  she  wore  the 
night  Ben  Cameron  kissed  her  and  called  her  a 
heroine. 

The  mother  cleaned  and  swept  the  room,  piled  the  torn 
clothes  and  cord  in  the  fireplace  and  burned  them,  dressed 
herself  as  if  for  a  walk,  softly  closed  the  doors,  and  hur 
ried  with  her  daughter  along  the  old  pathway  through 
the  moonlit  woods. 

At  the  edge  of  the  forest  she  stopped  and  looked  back 

3°S 


306  The  Clansman 

tenderly  at  the  little  home  shining  amid  tne  roses,  caught 
their  fault  perfume  and  faltered? 

"Let's  go  back  a  minute — I  want  to  see  his  room,  and 
kiss  Henry's  picture  again." 

"No,  we  are  going  to  him  now — I  hear  him  calling  us 
in  the  mists  above  the  cliff,"  said  the  girl — "come,  we 
must  hurry.  We  might  go  mad  and  fail'" 

Down  the  dim  cathedral  aisles  of  the  woods,  hallowed 
* 

by  tender  memories,  through  which  the  poet  lover  and 
father  had  taught  them  to  walk  with  reverent  feet  and 
without  fear,  they  fled  to  the  old  meeting-place  of  Love. 

On  the  brink  of  the  precipice,  the  mother  trembled, 
paused,  drew  back  and  gasped: 

"Are  you  not  afraid,  my  dear?" 

"No;  death  is  sweet,  now,"  said  the  girl.  "I  fear  only 
the  pity  of  those  we  love." 

"Is  there  no  other  way?  We  might  go  among 
strangers,"  pleaded  the  mother. 

"We  could  not  escape  ourselves!  The  thought  of  life  is 
torture.  Only  those  who  hate  me  could  wish  that  I  live. 
The  grave  will  be  soft  and  cool,  the  light  of  day  a  burn 
ing  shame." 

"  Come  back  to  the  seat  a  moment — let  me  tell  you  my 
love  again,"  urged  the  mother.  "Life  still  is  dear  while 
I  hold  your  hand." 

As  they  sat  in  brooding  anguish,  floating  up  from  the 
river  valley  came  the  music  of  a  banjo  in  a  negro  cabin, 
mingled  with  vulgar  shout  and  song  and  dance.,  A  verse 
of  the  ribald  senseless  lay  of  the  player  echoed  above 
the  banjo's  pert  refrains 


At  the  Dawn  of  Day  307 

"Chicken  in  de  bread  tray,  pickin*  up  dough; 
Granny,  will  your  dog  bite?    No,  chile,  no  I" 

The  mother  shivered  and  drew  Marion  closer, 

"  Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  has  it  come  to  this — all  my  hopes 
of  your  beautiful  lifet'k 

The  girl  lifted  her  head  and  kissed  the  quivering  lips. 

"With  what  loving  wonder  we  saw  you  grow,"  she 
sighed,  "  from  a  tottering  babe  on  to  the  hour  we  watched 
the  mystic  light  of  maidenhood  dawn  in  your  blue  eyes — 
and  all  to  end  in  this  hideous,  leprous  shame! — No! — Nol 
I  will  not  have  it!  It's  only  a  horrible  dream  1  God  is 
not  dead!" 

The  young  mother  sank  to  her  knees  and  buried  her 
face  in  Marion's  lap  in  a  hopeless  paroxysm  of  grief. 

The  girl  bent,  kissed  the  curling  hair  and  smoothed  it 
with  her  soft  hand* 

A  sparrow  chirped  in  the  tree  above,  a  wren  twittered 
in  a  bush,  and  down  on  the  river's  brink  a  mocking-bird 
softly  waked  his  mate  with  a  note  of  thrilling  sweetness. 

"The  morning  is  coming,  dearest;  we  must  go,"  said 
Marion.  "This  shame  I  can  never  forget,  nor  will  the 
world  forget.  Death  is  the  only  way." 

They  walked  to  the  brink,  and  the  mother's  arms  stole 
round  the  girl. 

"Oh,  my  baby,  my  beautiful  darling,  Me  of  my  life, 
heart  of  my  heart,  soul  of  my  soul!" 

They  stood  for  a  moment,  as  if  listening  to  the  music 
of  the  falls,  looking  out  over  the  valley  faintly  outlining 
itself  in  the  dawn.  The  first  far-away  streaks  of  blue 
light  on  the  mountain  ranges,  defining  distance,  slowly 


308  The  Clansman 

appeared.  A  fresh  motionless  day  brooded  over  the 
world  as  the  amorous  stir  of  the  spirit  of  morning  rose 
from  the  moist  earth  of  the  fields  below. 

A  bright  star  still  shone  in  the  sky,  and  the  face  of  the 
mother  gazed  on  it  intently.  Did  the  Woman-spirit,  the 
burning  focus  of  the  fiercest  desire  to  live  and  will,  catch 
in  this  supreme  moment  the  star's  Divine  speech  before 
which  all  human  passions  sink  into  silence?  Perhaps, 
for  she  smiled.  The  daughter  answered  with  a  smile; 
and  then,  hand  in  hand,  they  stepped  from  the  cliff  into 
the  mists  and  on  through  the  opal  gates  of  Death. 


Book  IV-The  Ku  Klux  Klan 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  HUNT  FOR  THE  ANIMAL 

AUNT  CINDY  came  at  seven  o'clock  to  get  break 
fast,  and  finding  the  house  closed  and  no  one  at 
home,  supposed  Mrs.  Lenoir  and  Marion  had 
remained  at  the  Cameron  House  for  the  night.  She  sat 
down  on  the  steps,  waited  grumblingly  an  hour,  and  then 
hurried  to  the  hotel  to  scold  her  former  mistress  for  keep 
ing  her  out  so  long. 

Accustomed  to  enter  familiarly,  she  thrust  her  head 
into  the  dining-room,  where  the  family  were  at  breakfast 
with  a  solitary  guest,  muttering  the  speech  she  had  been 
rehearsing  on  the  way: 

"I  lak  ter  know  what  sort  er  way  dis — whar's  Miss 
Jeannie?" 

Ben  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"Isn't  she  at  home?" 

"Been  waitin'  dar  two  hours." 

"Great  God!"  he  groaned,  springing  through  the  door 
and  rushing  to  saddle  the  mare.  As  he  left  he  called  to 
his  father:  "Let  no  one  know  till  I  return." 

At  the  house  he  could  find  no  trace  of  the  crime  he 
had  suspected.  Every  room  was  in  perfect  order.  He 

3°9 


The  Clansman 

searched  the  yard  carefully,  and  under  the  cedar  by  the 
window  he  saw  the  barefoot  tracks  of  a  negro.  The  white 
man  was  never  born  who  could  make  that  track.  The 
enormous  heel  projected  backward,  and  in  the  hollow  of 
the  instep  where  the  dirt  would  scarcely  be  touched  by 
an  Aryan  was  the  deep  wide  mark  of  the  African's  fiat 
foot.  He  carefully  measured  it,  brought  from  an  outhouse 
a  box,  and  fastened  it  over  the  spot. 

It  might  have  been  an  ordinary  chicken-thief,  of  course. 
He  could  not  tell,  but  it  was  a  fact  of  big  import.  A  sud 
den  hope  flashed  through  his  mind  that  they  might  have 
risen  with  the  sun  and  strolled  to  their  favourite  haunt  at 
Lover's  Leap. 

In  two  minutes  he  was  there,  gazing  with  hard-set  eyes 
at  Marion's  hat  and  handkerchief  lying  on  the  shelving 
rock. 

The  mare  bent  her  glistening  neck,  touched  the  hat  with 
her  nose,  lifted  her  head,  dilated  her  delicate  nostrils, 
looked  out  over  the  cliff  with  her  great  soft  half-human 
eyes,  and  whinnied  gently. 

Ben  leaped  to  the  ground,  picked  up  the  handkerchief 
and  looked  at  the  initials,  "M.  L,"  worked  in  the  corner. 
He  knew  what  lay  on  the  river's  brink  below  as  well  as  if 
he  stood  over  the  dead  bodies.  He  kissed  the  letters  of 
her  name,  crushed  the  handkerchief  in  his  locked  hands, 
and  cried: 

"Now,  Lord  God,  give  me  strength  for  the  service  of 
my  people!" 

He  hurriedly  examined  the  ground,  amazed  to  find  no 


The    Hunt   for  the  Animal  311 

trace  of  a  struggle  or  crime.  Could  it  be  possible  they 
had  ventured  too  near  the  brink  and  fallen  over  ? 

He  hurried  to  report  to  his  father  his  discoveries,  in 
structed  his  mother  and  Margaret  to  keep  the  servants 
quiet  until  the  truth  was  known,  and  the  two  men  returned 
along  the  river's  brink  to  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 

They  found  the  bodies  close  to  the  water's  edge.  Marion 
had  been  killed  instantly.  Her  fair  blonde  head  lay  in  a 
crimson  circle  sharply  defined  in  the  white  sand.  But  the 
mother  was  still  warm  with  life.  She  had  scarcely  ceased 
to  breathe.  In  one  last  desperate  throb  of  love  the  trem 
bling  soul  had  dragged  the  dying  body  to  the  girl's  side, 
and  she  had  died  with  her  head  resting  on  the  fan*  round 
neck  as  though  she  had  kissed  her  and  fallen  asleep. 

Father  and  son  clasped  hands  and  stood  for  a  moment 
with  uncovered  heads.  The  doctor  said  at  length: 

"Go  to  the  coroner  at  once,  and  see  that  he  summons 
the  jury  you  select  and  hand  to  him.  Bring  them  immedi 
ately.  I  will  examine  the  bodies  before  they  arrive." 

Ben  took  the  negro  coroner  into  his  office  alone,  turned 
the  key,  told  him  of  the  discovery,  and  handed  him  the 
list  of  the  jury. 

"I'll  hatter  see  Mr.  Lynch  fust,  sah,"  he  answered. 

Ben  placed  his  hand  on  his  hip-pocket  and  said  coldly: 

"Put  your  cross-mark  on  those  forms  I've  made  out 
there  for  you,  go  with  me  immediately,  and  summon  these 
men.  If  you  dare  put  a  negro  on  this  jury,  or  open 
your  mouth  as  to  what  has  occurred  in  this  room,  I'll 
kill  you." 

The  negro  tremblingly  did  as  he  was  commanded. 


312  The  Clansman 

The  coroner's  jury  reported  that  the  mother  and  daugh 
ter  had  been  killed  by  accidentally  falling  over  the  cliff. 

In  all  the  throng  of  grief-stricken  friends  who  came  to  the 
little  cottage  that  day,  but  two  men  knew  the  hell-lit  secret 
beneath  the  tragedy. 

When  the  bodies  reached  the  home,  Doctor  Cameron 
placed  Mrs.  Cameron  and  Margaret  outside  to  receive 
visitors  and  prevent  any  one  from  disturbing  him.  He 
took  Ben  into  the  room  and  locked  the  doors. 

"  My  boy,  I  wish  you  to  witness  an  experiment." 

He  drew  from  its  case  a  powerful  microscope  of  French 
make. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  going  to  do,  sir?" 

The  doctor's  brilliant  eyes  flashed  with  a  mystic  light 
as  he  replied: 

"Find  the  fiend  who  did  this  crime — and  then  we  will 
hang  him  on  a  gallows  so  high  that  all  men  from  the  rivers 
to  ends  of  the  earth  shall  see  and  feel  and  know  the  might 
of  an  unconquerable  race  of  men." 

"But  there's  no  trace  of  him  here." 

"We  shall  see,"  said  the  doctor,  adjusting  his  instru 
ment. 

"I  believe  that  a  microscope  of  sufficient  power  will 
reveal  on  the  retina  of  these  dead  eyes  the  image  of  this 
devil  as  if  etched  there  by  fire.  The  experiment  has  been 
made  successfully  in  France.  No  word  or  deed  of  man 
is  lost.  A  German  scholar  has  a  memory  so  wonderful 
he  can  repeat  whole  volumes  of  Latin,  German,  and 
French  without  an  error.  A  Russian  officer  has  been 
known  to  repeat  the  roll-call  of  any  regiment  by  reading 


The  Hunt  for  the  Animal  313. 

it  twice.  Psychologists  hold  that  nothing  is  lost  from  the- 
memory  of  man.  Impressions  remain  in  the  brain  like 
words  written  on  paper  in  invisible  ink.  So  I  believe  of 
images  in  the  eye  if  we  can  trace  them  early  enough.  If 
no  impression  were  made  subsequently  on  the  mother's 
eye  by  the  light  of  day,  I  believe  the  fire-etched  record  of 
this  crime  can  yet  be  traced." 

Ben  watched  him  with  breathless  interest. 

He  first  examined  Marion's  eyes.  But  in  the  cold  azure 
blue  of  their  pure  depths  he  could  find  nothing. 

"It's  as  I  feared  with  the  child,"  he  said.  "I  can  see 
nothing.  It  is  on  the  mother  I  rely.  In  the  splendour 
of  life,  at  thirty-seven  she  was  the  full-blown  perfection 
of  womanhood  with  every  vital  force  at  its  highest  ten 
sion " 

He  looked  long  and  patiently  into  the  dead  mother  s 
eye,  rose  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face. 

"What  is  it  sir?"  asked  Ben. 

Without  reply,  as  if  in  a  trance,  he  returned  to  the 
microscope  and  again  rose  with  the  little  quick  nervous 
cough  he  gave  only  in  the  greatest  excitement,  and  whis 
pered  : 

"  Look  now  and  tell  me  what  you  see. " 

Ben  looked  and  said: 

"I  can  see  nothing." 

"  Your  powers  of  vision  are  not  trained  as  mine, "  re 
plied  the  doctor,  resuming  his  place  at  the  instrument. 

"What  do  you  see?"  asked  the  younger  man,  bending 
nervously. 

"The  bestial  figure  of  a  negro — his  huge  black  hand 


314  The  Clansman 

plainly  defined — the  upper  part  of  the  face  is  dim,  as  if 
obscured  by  a  gray  mist  of  dawn — but  the  massive  jaws 
and  lips  are  clear — merciful  God! — yes! — it's  Gus!" 

The  doctor  leaped  to  his  feet  livid  with  excitement. 

Ben  bent  again,  looked  long  and  eagerly,  but  could  see 
nothing. 

"I'm  afraid  the  image  is  in  your  eye,  sir,  not  the 
mother's  "  said  Ben,  sadly. 

"That's  possible,  of  course,"  said  the  doctor,  "yet  I 
don't  believe  it." 

"I've  thought  of  the  same  scoundrel  and  tried  blood 
hounds  on  that  track,  but  for  some  reason  they  couldn't 
follow  it.  I  suspected  him  from  the  first,  and  especially 
since  learning  that  he  left  for  Columbia  on  the  early  morn 
ing  train  on  pretended  official  business." 

"Then  I'm  not  mistaken,"  insisted  the  doctor,  trem 
bling  with  excitement.  "Now  do  as  I  tell  you.  Find 
when  he  returns.  Capture  him,  bind,  gag,  and  carry  him 
to  your  meeting-place  under  the  cliff,  and  let  me  know." 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  funeral,  two  days  later,  Ben 
received  a  cypher  telegram  from  the  conductor  of  the  train 
telling  him  that  Gus  was  on  the  evening  mail  due  at 
Piedmont  at  nine  o'clock. 

The  papers  had  been  filled  with  accounts  of  the  acci 
dent,  and  an  enormous  crowd  from  the  county,  and  many 
admirers  of  the  fiery  lyrics  of  the  poet-father,  had  come 
from  distant  parts  to  honour  his  name.  All  business  was 
suspended,  and  the  entire  white  population  of  the  village 
followed  the  bodies  to  their  last  resting-place. 

As  the  crowds  returned  to  their  homes,  no  notice  was 


The  Hunt   for   the  Animal  315 

taken  of  a  dozen  men  on  horseback  who  rode  out  of  town 
by  different  ways  about  dusk.  At  eight  o'clock  they  met 
in  the  woods,  near  the  first  little  flag-station  located  on 
McAllister's  farm  four  miles  from  Piedmont,  where  a 
buggy  awaited  them.  Two  men  of  powerful  build,  who 
were  strangers  in  the  county,  alighted  from  the  buggy  and 
walked  along  the  track  to  board  the  train  at  the  station 
three  miles  beyond  and  confer  with  the  conductor. 

The  men,  who  gathered  in  the  woods,  dismounted, 
removed  their  saddles,  and  from  the  folds  of  the  blankets 
took  a  white  disguise  for  horse  and  man.  In  a  moment  it 
was  fitted  on  each  horse,  with  buckles  at  the  throat,  breast, 
and  tail,  and  the  saddles  replaced.  The  white  robe  for 
the  man  was  made  in  the  form  of  an  ulster  overcoat  with 
cape,  the  skirt  extending  to  the  top  of  the  shoes.  From 
the  red  belt  at  the  waist  were  swung  two  revolvers  which 
had  been  concealed  in  their  pockets.  On  each  man's 
breast  was  a  scarlet  circle  within  which  shone  a  white 
cross.  The  same  scarlet  circle  and  cross  appeared  on  the 
horse's  breast,  while  on  his  flanks  flamed  the  three  red 
mystic  letters,  K.  1C.  K.  Each  man  wore  a  white  cap,  from 
the  edges  of  which  fell  a  piece  of  cloth  extending  to  the 
shoulders.  Beneath  the  visor  was  an  opening  for  the 
eyes  and  lower  down  one  for  the  mouth.  On  the  front  of  the 
caps  of  two  of  the  men  appeared  the  red  wings  of  a  hawk 
as  the  ensign  of  rank.  From  the  top  of  each  cap  rose 
eighteen  inches  high  a  single  spike  held  erect  by  a  twisted 
wire.  The  disguises  for  man  and  horse  were  made  of 
cheap  unbleached  domestic  and  weighed  less  than  three 
pounds.  They  were  easily  folded  within  a  blanket  and 


316  The  Clansman 

kept  under  the  saddle  in  a  crowd  without  discovery.  It 
required  less  than  two  minutes  to  remove  the  saddles, 
place  the  disguises,  and  remount. 

At  the  signal  of  a  whistle,  the  men  and  horses  arrayed 
in  white  and  scarlet  swung  into  double-file  cavalry  forma 
tion  and  stood  awaiting  orders.  The  moon  was  now 
shining  brightly,  and  its  light  shimmering  on  the  silent 
horses  and  men  with  their  tall  spiked  caps  made  a  picture 
such  as  the  world  had  not  seen  since  the  Knights  of  the 
Middle  Ages  rode  on  their  Holy  Crusades. 

As  the  train  neared  the  flag-station,  which  was  dark  and 
unattended,  the  conductor  approached  Gus,  leaned  over, 
and  said:  "I've  just  gotten  a  message  from  the  sheriff 
telling  me  to  warn  you  to  get  off  at  this  station  and  slip 
into  town.  There's  a  crowd  at  the  depot  there  waiting 
for  you  and  they  mean  trouble." 

Gus  trembled,  and  whispered: 

"  Den  fur  Gawd's  sake  lemme  off  here." 

The  two  men  who  got  on  at  the  station  below  stepped 
out  before  the  negro,  and,  as  he  alighted  from  the  car, 
seized,  tripped,  and  threw  him  to  the  ground.  The  en 
gineer  blew  a  sharp  signal,  and  the  train  pulled  on. 

In  a  minute  Gus  was  bound  and  gagged. 

One  of  the  men  drew  a  whistle  and  blew  twice.  A  single 
tremulous  call  like  the  cry  of  an  owl  answered.  The 
swift  beat  of  horses'  feet  followed,  and  four  white-and- 
scarlet  clansmen  swept  in  a  circle  around  the  group. 

One  of  the  strangers  turned  to  the  horseman  with  red* 
winged  ensign  on  his  cap,  saluted,  and  said: 

"Here's  your  man,  Night  Hawk." 


The   Hunt   for  the  Animal  317 

"Thanks,  gentlemen,"  was  the  answer.  "Let  us  know 
when  we  can  be  of  service  to  your  county." 

The  strangers  sprang  into  their  buggy  and  disappeared 
toward  the  North  Carolina  line. 

The  clansmen  blindfolded  the  negro,  placed  him  on  a 
horse,  tied  his  legs  securely,  and  his  arms  behind  him  to 
the  ring  in  the  saddle. 

The  Night  Hawk  blew  his  whistle  four  sharp  blasts,  and 
his  pickets  galloped  from  their  positions  and  joined  him. 

Again  the  signal  rang,  and  his  men  wheeled  with  the  pre 
cision  of  trained  cavalrymen  into  column  formation  three 
abreast,  and  rode  toward  Piedmont,  the  single  black  figure 
tied  and  gagged  in  the  centre  of  the  white-and-scarlet 
squadron. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  FIERY  CROSS 

THE  clansmen  with  their  prisoner  skirted  the 
village  and  halted  in  the  woods  on  the  river 
bank.  The  Night  Hawk  signalled  for  single  file, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  they  stood  against  the  cliff  under 
Lover's  Leap  and  saluted  the  chief,  who  sat  his  horse, 
awaiting  their  arrival. 

Pickets  were  placed  in  each  direction  on  the  narrow 
path  by  which  the  spot  was  approached,  and  one  was 
sent  to  stand  guard  on  the  shelving  rock  above. 

Through  the  narrow  crooked  entrance  they  led  Gus  into 
the  cave  which  had  been  the  rendezvous  of  the  Piedmont 
Den  of  the  Klan  since  its  formation.  The  meeting-place 
was  a  grand  hall  eighty  feet  deep,  fifty  feet  wide,  and  more 
than  forty  feet  hi  height,  which  had  been  carved  out  of  the 
stone  by  the  swift  current  of  the  river  in  ages  past  when 
its  waters  stood  at  a  higher  level. 

To-night  it  was  lighted  by  candles  placed  on  the  ledges  of 
the  walls.  In  the  centre,  on  a  fallen  boulder,  sat  the 
Grand  Cyclops  of  the  Den,  the  presiding  officer  of  the 
township,  his  rank  marked  by  scarlet  stripes  on  the  vMte- 
cloth  spike  of  his  cap.  Around  him  stood  twenty  or  more 
clansmen  in  their  uniform,  completely  disguised.  One 
among  them  wore  a  yellow  sash,  trimmed  in  gold,  about  his 


The  Fiery  Cross  319 

waist,  and  on  his  breast  two  yellow  circles  with  red  crosses 
interlapping,  denoting  his  rank  to  be  the  Grand  Dragon  of 
the  Realm,  or  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  State. 

The  Cyclops  rose  from  his  seat: 

"  Let  the  Grand  Turk  remove  his  prisoner  for  a  moment 
and  place  him  in  charge  of  the  Grand  Sentinel  at  the  door, 
until  summoned." 

The  officer  disappeared  with  Gus,  and  the  Cyclops 
continued : 

"The  Chaplain  will  open  our  Council  with  prayer." 

Solemnly  every  white  -  shrouded  figure  knelt  on  the 
ground,  and  the  voice  of  the  Rev.  Hugh  McAlpin,  trem 
bling  with  feeling,  echoed  through  the  cave : 

"Lord  God  of  our  Fathers,  as  in  times  past  thy  children, 
fleeing  from  the  oppressor,  found  refuge  beneath  the  earth 
until  once  more  the  sun  of  righteousness  rose,  so  are  we 
met  to-night.  As  we  wrestle  with  the  powers  of  dark 
ness  now  strangling  our  life,  give  to  our  souls  to  endure 
as  seeing  the  invisible,  and  to  our  right  arms  the  strength 
of  the  martyred  dead  of  our  people.  Have  mercy  on  the 
poor,  the  weak,  the  innocent  and  defenseless,  and  deliver 
us  from  the  body  of  the  Black  Death.  In  a  land  of  light 
and  beauty  and  love  our  women  are  prisoners  of  danger 
and  fear.  While  the  heathen  walks  his  native  heath  un 
harmed  and  unafraid,  in  this  fair  Christian  Southland, 
our  sisters,  wives,  and  daughters  dare  not  stroll  at  twilight 
through  the  streets,  or  step  beyond  the  highway  at  noon. 
The  terror  of  the  twilight  deepens  with  the  darkness,  and 
the  stoutest  heart  grows  sick  with  fear  for  the  red  mes 
sage  the  morning  bringeth.  Forgive  our  sins — they  are 


320  The  Clansman 

many,  but  hide  not  thy  face  from  us,  O  God,  for  thou 
art  our  refuge!" 

As  the  last  echoes  of  the  prayer  lingered  and  died  in  the 
vaulted  roof,  the  clansmen  rose  and  stood  a  moment  in 
silence. 

Again  the  voice  of  the  Cyclops  broke  the  stillness: 

"Brethren,  we  are  met  to-night  at  the  request  of  the 
Grand  Dragon  of  the  Realm,  who  has  honoured  us  with 
his  presence,  to  constitute  a  High  Court  for  the  trial  of  a 
case  involving  life.  Are  the  Night  Hawks  ready  to  sub 
mit  their  evidence?" 

"We  are  ready,"  came  the  answer. 

"Then  let  the  Grand  Scribe  read  the  objects  of  the 
Order  on  which  your  authority  rests." 

The  Scribe  opened  his  Book  of  Record,  "  The  Prescript 
of  the  Order  of  the  Invisible  Empire,"  and  solemnly  read : 

"To  the  lovers  of  law  and  order,  peace  and  justice,  and 
to  the  shades  of  the  venerated  dead,  greeting: 

"This  is  an  institution  of  Chivalry,  Humanity,  Mercy, 
and  Patriotism:  embodying  in  its  genius  and  principles 
all  that  is  chivalric  in  conduct,  noble  in  sentiment,  gen 
erous  in  manhood,  and  patriotic  in  purpose:  its  peculiar 
objects  being, 

"First:  To  protect  the  weak,  the  innocent,  and  the 
defenseless  from  the  indignities,  wrongs  and  outrages  of 
the  lawless,  the  violent,  and  the  brutal ;  to  relieve  the  in 
jured  and  the  oppressed:  to  succour  the  suffering  and  un 
fortunate,  and  especially  the  widows  and  the  orphans  of 
Confederate  Soldiers. 

" Second:  To  protect  and  defend  the  Constitution  of 


The  Fiery  Cross  321 

the  United  States,  and  all  the  laws  passed  in  conformity 
thereto,  and  to  protect  the  states  and  the  people  thereof 
from  all  invasion  from  any  source  whatever. 

"Third:  To  aid  and  assist  in  the  execution  of  all  Con 
stitutional  laws,  and  to  protect  the  people  from  unlawful 
seizure,  and  from  trial  except  by  their  peers  in  conformity 
to  the  laws  of  the  land." 

"The  Night  Hawks  will  produce  their  evidence,"  said 
the  Cyclops,  "and  the  Grand  Monk  will  conduct  the  case 
of  the  people  against  the  negro  Augustus  Caesar,  the 
former  slave  of  Dr.  Richard  Cameron." 

Dr.  Cameron  advanced  and  removed  his  cap.  His 
snow-white  hair  and  beard,  ruddy  face  and  dark-brown 
brilliant  eyes  made  a  strange  picture  in  its  weird  sur 
roundings,  like  an  ancient  alchemist  ready  to  conduct 
some  daring  experiment  in  the  problem  of  life. 

"I  am  here,  brethren,"  he  said,  "to  accuse  the  black 
brute  about  to  appear  of  the  crime  of  assault  on  a 
daughter  of  the  South " 

A  murmur  of  thrilling  surprise  and  horror  swept  the 
crowd  of  white  and  scarlet  figures  as  with  one  common 
impulse  they  moved  closer. 

"His  feet  have  been  measured  and  they  exactly  tally 
with  the  negro  tracks  found  under  the  window  of  the  Le- 
noir  cottage.  His  flight  to  Columbia  and  return  on  the 
publication  of  their  deaths  as  an  accident  is  a  confirmation 
of  our  case.  I  will  not  relate  to  you  the  scientific  experi 
ment  which  first  fixed  my  suspicion  of  this  man's  guilt. 
My  witness  could  not  confirm  it,  and  it  might  not  be  to 
you  credible.  But  this  negro  is  peculiarly  sensitive  to  hyp- 


322  The  Clansman 

notic  influence.  I  propose  to  put  him  under  this  power 
to-night  before  you,  and,  if  he  is  guilty,  I  can  make  him 
tell  his  confederates,  describe  and  rehearse  the  crime 
itself." 

The  Night  Hawks  led  Gus  before  Doctor  Cameron, 
untied  his  hands,  removed  the  gag,  and  slipped  the  blind 
fold  from  his  head. 

Under  the  doctor's  rigid  gaze  the  negro's  knees  struck 
together,  and  he  collapsed  into  complete  hypnosis,  merely 
lifting  his  huge  paws  lamely  as  if  to  ward  a  blow. 

They  seated  him  on  the  boulder  from  which  the  Cyclops 
rose,  and  Gus  stared  about  the  cave  and  grinned  as  if 
in  a  dream  seeing  nothing. 

The  doctor  recalled  to  him  the  day  of  the  crime,  and 
he  began  to  talk  to  his  three  confederates,  describing  his 
plot  in  detail,  now  and  then  pausing  and  breaking  into  a 
fiendish  laugh. 

Old  McAllister,  who  had  three  lovely  daughters  at  home, 
threw  off  his  cap,  sank  to  his  knees,  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands,  while  a  dozen  of  the  white  figures  crowded 
closer,  nervously  gripping  the  revolvers  which  hung  from 
their  red  belts. 

Doctor  Cameron  pushed  them  back  and  lifted  his  hand 
in  warning. 

The  negro  began  to  live  the  crime  with  fearful  realism 
— the  journey  past  the  hotel  to  make  sure  the  victims  had 
gone  to  their  home;  the  visit  to  Aunt  Cindy's  cabin  to 
find  her  there ;  lying  in  the  field  waiting  for  the  last  light 
of  the  village  to  go  out;  gloating  with  vulgar  exultation 
over  their  plot,  and  planning  other  crimes  to  follow  its 


The  Fiery  Cross  323 

success — how  they  crept  along  the  shadows  of  the  hedge 
row  of  the  lawn  to  avoid  the  moonlight,  stood  under  the 
cedar,  and  through  the  open  windows  watched  the  mother 
and  daughter  laughing  and  talking  within 

"Min*  what  I  tells  you  now — Tie  de  ole  one,  when  I 
gib  you  de  rope,"  said  Gus  in  a  whisper. 

"My  God!"  cried  the  agonised  voice  of  the  figure  with 
the  double  cross — "that's  what  the  piece  of  burnt  rope  in 
the  fireplace  meant!" 

Doctor  Cameron  again  lifted  his  hand  for  silence. 

Now  they  burst  into  the  room,  and  with  the  light  of  hell 
in  his  beady,  yellow-splotched  eyes,  Gus  gripped  his 
imaginary  revolver  and  growled: 

"Scream,  an'  I  blow  yer  brains  out!" 

In  spite  of  Doctor  Cameron's  warning,  the  white-robed 
figures  jostled  and  pressed  closer 

Gus  rose  to  his  feet  and  started  across  the  cave  as  if  to 
spring  on  the  shivering  figure  of  the  girl,  the  clansmen 
with  muttered  groans,  sobs  and  curses  falling  back  as  he 
advanced.  He  still  wore  his  full  Captain's  uniform,  its 
heavy  epaulets  flashing  their  gold  in  the  unearthly  light, 
his  beastly  jaws  half  covering  the  gold  braid  on  the  collar. 
His  thick  lips  were  drawn  upward  in  an  ugly  leer  and  his 
sinister  bead-eyes  gleamed  like  a  gorilla's.  A  single 
fierce  leap  and  the  black  claws  clutched  the  air  slowly 
as  if  sinking  into  the  soft  white  throat. 

Strong  men  began  to  cry  like  children. 

"Stop  him!  Stop  him!"  screamed  a  clansman,  spring 
ing  on  the  negro  and  grinding  his  heel  into  his  big  thick 


324  The  Clansman 

neck.  A  dozen  more  were  on  him  in  a  moment,  kicking, 
stamping,  cursing,  and  crying  like  madmen. 

Doctor  Cameron  leaped  forward  and  beat  them  off: 

"Men!  Men!  You  must  not  kill  him  in  this  condition!" 

Some  of  the  white  figures  had  fallen  prostrate  on  the 
ground,  sobbing  in  a  frenzy  of  uncontrollable  emotion. 
Some  were  leaning  against  the  walls,  their  faces  buried 
in  their  arms. 

Again  old  McAllister  was  on  his  knees  crying  over  and 
over  again: 

"God  have  mercy  on  my  people!" 

When  at  length  quiet  was  restored,  the  negro  was  re 
vived,  and  again  bound,  blindfolded,  gagged,  and  thrown 
to  the  ground  before  the  Grand  Cyclops. 

A  sudden  inspiration  flashed  in  Doctor  Cameron's  eyes. 
Turning  to  the  figure  with  yellow  sash  and  double  cross 
he  said: 

"Issue  your  orders  and  despatch  your  courier  to 
night  with  the  old  Scottish  rite  of  the  Fiery  Cross.  It 
will  send  a  thrill  of  inspiration  to  every  clansman  in 
the  hills." 

"Good — prepare  it  quickly,"  was  the  answer. 

Doctor  Cameron  opened  his  medicine  case,  drew  the 
silver  drinking-cover  from  a  flask,  and  passed  out  of  the 
cave  to  the  dark  circle  of  blood  still  shining  in  the  sand  by 
the  water's  edge.  He  knelt  and  filled  the  cup  half  full  of 
the  crimson  grains,  and  dipped  it  into  the  river.  From  a 
saddle  he  took  the  lightwood  torch,  returned  within, 
and  placed  the  cup  on  the  boulder  on  which  the  Grand 
Cyclops  had  sat.  He  loosed  the  bundle  of  lightwood,  took 


The  Fiery  Cross  325" 

two  pieces,  tied  them  into  the  form  of  a  cross,  and  laid  it 
beside  a  lighted  candle  near  the  silver  cup. 

The  silent  figures  watched  his  every  movement.  He 
lifted  the  cup  and  said: 

"  Brethren,  I  hold  in  my  hand  the  water  of  your  river 
bearing  the  red  stain  of  the  life  of  a  Southern  woman,  a 
priceless  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  outraged  civilisation. 
Hear  the  message  of  your  chief." 

The  tall  figure  with  the  yellow  sash  and  double  cross 
stepped  before  the  strange  altar,  while  the  white  forms 
of  the  clansmen  gathered  about  him  in  a  circle.  He 
lifted  his  cap,  and  laid  it  on  the  boulder,  and  his  men 
gazed  on  the  flushed  face  of  Ben  Cameron,  the  Grand 
Dragon  of  the  Realm. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  silent,  erect,  a  smouldering 
fierceness  in  his  eyes,  something  cruel  and  yet  magnetic 
in  his  alert  bearing. 

He  looked  on  the  prostrate  negro  lying  in  his  uniform 
at  his  feet,  seized  the  cross,  lighted  the  three  upper  ends 
and  held  it  blazing  in  his  hand,  while,  in  a  voice  full  of 
the  fires  of  feeling,  he  said: 

"  Men  of  the  South,  the  time  for  words  has  passed,  the 
hour  for  action  has  struck.  The  Grand  Turk  will  exe 
cute  this  negro  to-night  and  fling  his  body  on  the  lawn  of 
the  black  Lieutenant-Go vernor  of  the  state." 

The  Grand  Turk  bowed. 

"I  ask  for  the  swiftest  messenger  of  this  Den  who  can 
ride  till  dawn." 

The  man  whom  Doctor  Cameron  had  already  chosen 
stepped  forward: 


326  The  Clansman 

"Carry  my  summons  to  the  Grand  Titan  of  the  ad 
joining  province  in  North  Carolina  whom  you  will  find  at 
Hambright.  Tell  him  the  story  of  this  crime  and  what 
you  have  seen  and  heard.  Ask  him  to  report  to  me  here 
the  second  night  from  this,  at  eleven  o'clock,  with  six 
Grand  Giants  from  his  adjoining  counties,  each  accom 
panied  by  two  hundred  picked  men.  In  olden  times 
when  the  Chieftain  of  our  people  summoned  the  clan  on  an 
errand  of  life  and  death,  the  Fiery  Cross,  extinguished  in 
sacrificial  blood,  was  sent  by  swift  courier  from  village 
to  village.  This  call  was  never  made  in  vain,  nor  will  it 
be  to-night  in  the  new  world.  Here,  on  this  spot  made 
holy  ground  by  the  blood  of  those  we  hold  dearer  than 
life,  I  raise  the  ancient  symbol  of  an  unconquered  race 
of  men " 

High  above  his  head  in  the  darkness  of  the  cave  he 
lifted  the  blazing  emblem 

"The  Fiery  Cross  of  old  Scotland's  hills!  I  quench 
its  flames  in  the  sweetest  blood  that  ever  stained  the  sands 
of  Time." 

He  dipped  its  ends  in  the  silver  cup,  extinguished  the 
fire,  and  handed  the  charred  symbol  to  the  courier,  who 
quickly  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS 

THE  discovery  of  the  Captain  of  the  African  Guards 
lying  in  his  full  uniform  in  Lynch's  yard  sent  a 
thrill  of  terror  to  the  triumphant  leagues.     Across 
the  breast  of  the  body  was  pinned  a  scrap  of  paper  on 
which  was  written  in  red  ink  the  letters  K.  K.  K.     It  was 
the  first  actual  evidence  of  the  existence  of  this  dreaded 
order  in  Ulster  county. 

The  First  Lieutenant  of  the  Guards  assumed  command 
and  held  the  full  company  in  then*  armory  under  arms 
day  and  night.  Beneath  his  door  he  hac1  found  a  notice 
which  was  also  nailed  on  the  court-house.  It  appeared 
in  the  Piedmont  Eagle  and  in  rapid  succession  in  every 
newspaper  not  under  Negro  influence  in  the  state.  It 
read  as  follows: 

"HEADQUARTERS  OF  REALM  No.  4. 
"DREADFUL  ERA,  BLACK  EPOCH, 

"HIDEOUS  HOUR. 
"GENERAL  ORDER  No.  i. 

"The  Negro  Militia  now  organised  in  this  State  threatens 
the  extinction  of  civilisation.  They  have  avowed  their  purpose 
to  make  war  upon  and  exterminate  the  Ku  Klux  Klan,  an 
organisation  which  is  now  the  sole  guardian  of  Society.  All 
negroes  are  hereby  given  forty-eight  hours  from  the  publication 
of  this  notice  in  their  respective  counties  to  surrender  their 


327 


328  The  Clansman 

arms  at  the  court-house   door.     Those  who  refuse  must  take 
the  consequences. 

"By  order  of  the  G.  D.  of  Realm  No.  4. 

"By  the  Grand  Scribe." 

The  white  people  of  Piedmont  read  this  notice  with  a 
thrill  of  exultant  joy.  Men  walked  the  streets  with  an 
erect  bearing  which  said  without  words: 

"Stand  out  of  the  way." 

For  the  first  time  since  the  dawn  of  Black  Rule  negroes 
began  to  yield  to  white  men  and  women  the  right  of  way 
on  the  streets. 

On  the  day  following,  the  old  Commoner  sent  for  Phil. 

"What  is  the  latest  news?"  he  asked. 

"The  town  is  in  a  fever  of  excitement — not  over  the 
discovery  in  Lynch's  yard — but  over  the  blacker  rumour 
that  Marion  and  her  mother  committed  suicide  to  con 
ceal  an  assault  by  this  fiend." 

"A  trumped-up  lie,"  said  the  old  man  emphatically 

"It's  true,  sir.     I'll  take  Doctor  Cameron's  word  for  it.*' 

"You  have  just  come  from  the  Camerons?" 

"Yes." 

"Let  it  be  your  last  visit.  The  Camerons  are  on  the 
road  to  the  gallows,  father  and  son.  Lynch  informs  me 
that  the  murder  committed  last  night,  and  the  insolent 
notice  nailed  on  the  court-house  door,  could  have  come 
only  from  their  brain.  They  are  the  hereditary  leaders 
of  these  people.  They  alone  would  have  had  the  audacity 
to  fling  this  crime  into  the  teeth  of  the  world  and  threaten 
worse.  We  are  face  to  face  with  Southern  barbarism. 
Every  man  now  to  his  own  standard!  The  house  of 
Stoneman  can  have  no  part  with  midnight  assassins." 


The  Parting   of  the  "Ways  329 

"Nor  with  black  barbarians,  father.  It  is  a  question 
of  who  possesses  the  right  of  life  and  death  over  the  citi 
zen,  the  organised  virtue  of  the  community,  or  its  organ 
ised  crime.  You  have  mistaken  for  death  the  patience  of 
a  generous  people.  We  call  ourselves  the  champions  of 
liberty.  Yet  for  less  than  they  have  suffered,  kings  have 
lost  their  heads  and  empires  perished  before  the  wrath  of 
freemen." 

"My  boy,  this  is  not  a  question  for  argument  between 
us/*  said  the  father  with  stern  emphasis.  "This  con 
spiracy  of  terror  and  assassination  threatens  to  shatter 
my  work  to  atoms.  The  election  on  which  turns  the  des 
tiny  of  Congress,  and  the  success  or  failure  of  my  life,  is 
but  a  few  weeks  away.  Unless  this  foul  conspiracy  is 
crushed,  I  am  ruined,  and  the  Nation  falls  again  beneath 
the  heel  of  a  slaveholders'  oligarchy." 

"Your  nightmare  of  a  slaveholders'  oligarchy  does  not 
disturb  me." 

"At  least  you  will  have  the  decency  to  break  your 
affair  with  Margaret  Cameron  pending  the  issue 
of  my  struggle  of  life  and  death  with  her  father  and 
brother?" 

"Never." 

"Then  I  will  do  it  for  you." 

"I  warn  you,  sir,"  Phil  cried,  with  anger,  "that  if 
it  comes  to  an  issue  of  race  against  race,  I  am  a  white  man. 
The  ghastly  tragedy  of  the  condition  of  society  here  is 
something  for  which  the  people  of  the  South  are  no  longer 
responsible " 

"I'll  take  the  responsibility!"  growled  the  old  cynic. 


330  The  Clansman 

"Don't  ask  me  to  share  it,"  said  the  younger  man, 
emphatically. 

The  father  winced,  his  lips  trembled,  and  he  answered 
brokenly: 

"My  boy,  this  is  the  bitterest  hour  of  my  life  that  has 
had  little  to  make  it  sweet.  To  hear  such  words  from  you 
is  more  than  I  can  bear.  I  am  an  old  man  now — my 
sands  are  nearly  run.  But  two  human  beings  love  me, 
and  I  love  but  two.  On  you  and  your  sister  I  have  lavished 
all  the  treasures  of  a  maimed  and  strangled  soul — and  it 
has  come  to  this!  Read  the  notice  which  one  of  your 
friends  thrust  into  the  window  of  my  bedroom  last  night. " 

He  handed  Phil  a  piece  of  paper  on  which  was  written : 

"The  old  club-footed  beast  who  has  sneaked  into  our 
town,  pretending  to  search  for  health,  in  reality  the  leader  of 
the  infernal  Union  League,  will  be  given  forty-eight  hours  to 
vacate  the  house  and  rid  this  community  of  his  presence. 

"  K.  K.  K." 

"Are  you  an  officer  of  the  Union  League  ? "  Phil  asked 
in  surprise. 

"I  am  its  soul." 

"How  could  a  Southerner  discover  this,  if  your  own 
children  didn't  know  it?" 

"By  their  spies  who  have  joined  the  League." 

"And  do  the  rank  and  file  know  the  Black  Pope  at  the 
head  of  the  order?" 

"No,  but  high  officials  do." 

"Does  Lynch?" 

"Certainly." 

"Then  he  is  the  scoundrel  who  placed  that  note  in  your 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways  331 

room.  It  is  a  clumsy  attempt  to  forge  an  order  of  the 
Klan.  The  white  man  does  not  live  in  this  town  capable 
of  that  act.  I  know  these  people." 

"My  boy,  you  are  bewitched  by  the  smiles  of  a  woman 
to  deny  your  own  flesh  and  blood." 

"Nonsense,  father — you  are  possessed  by  an  idea  which 
has  become  an  insane  mania " 

"  Will  you  respect  my  wishes  ? "  the  old  man  broke  in, 
angrily. 

"I  will  not,"  was  the  clear  answer.  Phil  turned  and 
left  the  room,  and  the  old  man's  massive  head  sank  on  his 
breast  in  helpless  baffled  rage  and  grief. 

He  was  more  successful  in  his  appeal  to  Elsie.  He  con 
vinced  her  of  the  genuineness  of  the  threat  against  him. 
The  brutal  reference  to  his  lameness  roused  the  girl's  soul. 
When  the  old  man,  crushed  by  Phil's  desertion,  broke 
down  the  last  reserve  of  his  strange  cold  nature,  tore  his 
wounded  heart  open  to  her,  cried  in  agony  over  his  deform 
ity,  his  lameness,  and  the  anguish  with  which  he  saw  the 
threatened  ruin  of  his  life-work,  she  threw  her  arms  around 
his  neck  in  a  flood  of  tears  and  cried : 

"Hush,  father,  I  will  not  desert  you.  I  will  never  leave 
you,  or  wed  without  your  blessing.  If  I  find  that  my 
lover  was  in  any  way  responsible  for  this  insult,  I'll  tear 
his  image  out  of  my  heart  and  never  speak  his  name 
again!" 

She  wrote  a  note  to  Ben,  asking  him  to  meet  her  at 
sundown  on  horseback  at  Lover's  Leap. 

Ben  was  elated  at  the  unexpected  request.  He  was 
hungry  for  an  hour  with  his  sweetheart,  whom  he  had  not 


332  The  Clansman 

seen  save  for  a  moment  since  the  storm  of  excitement 
broke  following  the  discovery  of  the  crime. 

He  hastened  through  his  work  of  ordering  the  movement 
of  the  Klan  for  the  night,  and  determined  to  surprise  Elsie 
by  meeting  her  in  his  uniform  of  a  Grand  Dragon, 

Secure  in  her  loyalty,  he  would  deliberately  thus  put  his 
life  in  her  hands.  Using  the  water  of  a  brook  in  the  woods 
for  a  mirror,  he  adjusted  his  yellow  sash  and  pushed  the 
two  revolvers  back  under  the  cape  out  of  sight,  saying  to 
himself  with  a  laugh: 

"Betray  me?  Well,  if  she  does,  life  would  not  be 
worth  the  living!" 

When  Elsie  had  recovered  from  the  first  shock  of  sur 
prise  at  the  white  horse  and  rider  waiting  for  her  under 
the  shadows  of  the  old  beech,  her  surprise  gave  way  to 
grief  at  the  certainty  of  his  guilt,  and  the  greatness  of  his 
love  in  thus  placing  his  life  without  a  question  in  her  hands. 

He  tied  the  horses  in  the  woods,  and  they  sat  down  on 
the  rustic. 

He  removed  his  helmet  cap,  threw  back  the  white  cape 
showing  the  scarlet  lining,  and  the  two  golden  circles  with 
their  flaming  crosses  on  his  breast,  with  boyish  pride. 
The  costume  was  becoming  to  his  slender  graceful  figure, 
and  he  knew  it. 

"You  see,  sweetheart,  I  hold  high  rank  in  the  Empire," 
he  whispered. 

From  beneath  his  cape  he  drew  a  long  bundle  which 
he  unroDed.  It  was  a  triangular  flag  of  brilliant  yellow 
«dged  in  scarlet.  In  the  centre  of  the  yellow  ground  was 
the  figure  of  a  huge  black  dragon  with  fiery  red  eyes  and 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways  333 

tongue.  Around  it  was  a  Latin  motto  worked  in  scarlet: 
"quod  semper,  quod  ubique,  quod  ab  omnibus" — what 
always,  what  everywhere,  what  by  all  has  been  held  to  be 
true.  "The  battle-flag  of  the  Klan,"  he  said;  "the 
standard  of  the  Grand  Dragon." 

Elsie  seized  his  hand  and  kissed  it,  unable  to  speak. 

"Why  so  serious  to-night?" 

"Do  you  love  me  very  much?"  she  answered. 

"Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  he  lay  his 
fife  at  the  feet  of  his  beloved,"  he  responded,  tenderly. 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know — and  that  is  why  you  are  breaking 
my  heart.  .When  first  I  met  you — it  seems  now  ages  and 
ages  ago — I  was  a  vain,  self-willed,  pert  little  thing " 

"It's  not  so.  I  took  you  for  an  angel — you  were  one. 
You  are  one  to-night." 

"Now,"  she  went  on  slowly,  "in  what  I  have  lived 
through  you  I  have  grown  into  an  impassioned,  serious,  self- 
disciplined,  bewildered  woman.  Your  perfect  trust  to 
night  is  the  sweetest  revelation  that  can  come  to  a  woman's 
soul  and  yet  it  brings  to  me  unspeakable  pain " 

"For  what?" 

"You  are  guilty  of  murder.'* 

Ben's  figure  stiffened. 

"The  judge  who  pronounces  sentence  of  death  on  a 
criminal  outlawed  by  civilised  society  is  not  usually  called 
a  murderer,  my  dear." 

"And  by  whose  authority  are  you  a  judge  ?" 

"By  authority  of  the  sovereign  people  who  created  the 
State  of  South  Carolina.  The  criminals  who  claim  to  be 


334  The  Clansman 

our  officers  are  usurpers  placed  there  by  the  subversion 
of  law." 

"Won't  you  give  this  all  up  for  my  sake  ?"  she  pleaded. 
"Believe  me,  you  are  in  great  danger." 

"  Not  so  great  as  is  the  danger  of  my  sister  and  mother 
and  my  sweetheart — it  is  a  man's  place  to  face  danger," 
he  gravely  answered. 

"This  violence  can  only  lead  to  your  ruin  and  shame ' 

"I  am  fighting  the  battle  of  a  race  on  whose  fate  hangs 
the  future  of  the  South  and  the  Nation.  My  ruin  and 
shame  will  be  of  small  account  if  they  are  saved,"  was  the 
even  answer. 

"Come,  my  dear,"  she  pleaded,  tenderly,  "you  know 
that  I  have  weighed  the  treasures  of  music  and  art  and 
given  them  all  for  one  clasp  of  your  hand,  one  throb  of 
your  heart  against  mine.  I  should  call  you  cruel  did  I 
not  know  you  are  infinitely  tender.  This  is  the  only  thing 
I  have  ever  asked  you  to  do  for  me " 

"Desert  my  people!  You  must  not  ask  of  me  this 
infamy,  if  you  love  me,"  he  cried. 

"But,  listen;  this  is  wrong — this  wild  vengeance  is  a 
crime  you  are  doing,  however  great  the  provocation.  We 
cannot  continue  to  love  one  another  if  you  do  this.  Listen : 
I  love  you  better  than  father,  mother,  life  or  career — all 
my  dreams  I've  lost  in  you.  I've  lived  through  eternity 
to-day  with  my  father " 

"You  know  me  guiltless  of  the  vulgar  threat  against 
him " 

"Yes,  and  yet  you  are  the  leader  of  desperate  men  who 
might  have  done  it.  As  I  fought  this  battle  to-day,  I've 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways  335 

lost  you,  lost  myself,  and  sunk  down  to  the  depths  of 
despair,  and  at  the  end  rang  the  one  weak  cry  of  a  woman's 
heart  for  her  lover!  Your  frown  can  darken  the  brightest 
sky.  For  your  sake  I  can  give  up  all  save  the  sense  of 
right.  I'll  walk  by  your  side  in  life — lead  you  gently  and 
tenderly  along  the  way  of  my  dreams  if  I  can,  but  if  you 
go  your  way,  it  shall  be  mine;  and  I  shall  still  be  glad 
because  you  are  there!  See  how  humble  I  am — only  you 
must  not  commit  crime!" 

"Come,  sweetheart,  you  must  not  use  that  word,"  he 
protested,  with  a  touch  of  wounded  pride. 

"You  are  a  conspirator " 

"I  am  a  revolutionist." 

"You  are  committing  murder!" 

"I  am  waging  war." 

Elsie  leaped  to  her  feet  in  a  sudden  rush  of  anger  and 
extended  her  hand: 

"  Good-bye.  I  shall  not  see  you  again.  I  do  not  know 
you.  You  are  still  a  stranger  to  me." 

He  held  her  hand  firmly. 

"We  must  not  part  in  anger,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  have 
grave  work  to  do  before  the  day  dawns.  We  may  not  see 
each  other  again." 

She  led  her  horse  to  the  seat  quickly  and  without  waiting 
for  his  assistance  sprang  into  the  saddle. 

"  Do  you  not  fear  my  betrayal  of  your  secret  ?"  she  asked. 

He  rode  to  her  side,  bent  close,  and  whispered: 

"It's  as  safe  as  if  locked  in  the  heart  of  God." 

A  little  sob  caught  her  voice,  yet  she  said  slowly  in  firm 
tones: 


336  The  Clansman 

"If  another  crime  is  committed  in  this  county  by  your 
Klan,  we  will  never  see  each  other  again." 

He  escorted  her  to  the  edge  of  the  town  without  a  word, 
pressed  her  hand  in  silence,  wheeled  his  horse,  and  disap 
peared  on  the  road  to  the  North  Carolina  line. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  BANNER  OF  THE  DRAGON 

BEN  CAMERON  rode  rapidly  to  the  rendezvous  of 
the  pickets  who  were  to  meet  the  coming  squad 
rons. 

He  returned  home  and  ate  a  hearty  meal.  As  he 
emerged  from  the  dining-room,  Phil  seized  him  by  the  arm 
and  led  him  under  the  big  oak  on  the  lawn : 

"  Cameron,  old  boy,  I'm  in  a  lot  of  trouble.  I've  had  a 
quarrel  with  my  father,  and  your  sister  has  broken  me  all 
up  by  returning  my  ring.  I  want  a  little  excitement  to 
ease  my  nerves.  From  Elsie's  incoherent  talk  I  judge  you 
are  in  danger.  If  there's  going  to  be  a  fight,  let  me  in." 

Ben  took  his  hand: 

"You're  the  kind  of  a  man  I'd  like  to  have  for  a  brother, 
and  I'll  help  you  in  love — but  as  for  war — it's  not  your 
fight.  We  don't  need  help." 

At  ten  o'clock  Ben  met  the  local  Den  at  their  rendezvous 
under  the  cliff,  to  prepare  for  the  events  of  the  night. 

The  forty  members  present  were  drawn  up  before  him 
in  double  rank  of  twenty  each. 

"Brethren,"  he  said  to  them,  solemnly,  "I  have  called 
you  to-night  to  take  a  step  from  which  there  can  be  no 
retreat.  We  are  going  to  make  a  daring  experiment  of  the 


337 


338  The  Clansman 

utmost  importance.  If  there  is  a  faint  heart  among  you, 
now  is  the  time  to  retire " 

"We  are  with  you  I"  cried  the  men. 

"There  are  laws  of  our  race,  old  before  this  Republic 
was  born  in  the  souls  of  white  freemen.  The  fiat  of  fools 
has  repealed  on  paper  these  laws.  Your  fathers  who 
created  this  Nation  were  first  Conspirators,  then  Revolu 
tionists,  now  Patriots  and  Saints.  I  need  to-night  ten 
volunteers  to  lead  the  coming  clansmen  over  this  county 
and  disarm  every  negro  in  it.  The  men  from  North  Caro 
lina  cannot  be  recognised.  Each  of  you  must  run  this 
risk.  Your  absence  from  home  to-night  will  be  doubly 
dangerous  for  what  will  be  done  here  at  this  negro  armory 
under  my  command.  I  ask  of  these  ten  men  to  ride  their 
horses  until  dawn,  even  unto  death,  to  ride  for  their  God, 
their  native  land,  and  the  womanhood  of  the  South! 

"To  each  man  who  accepts  this  dangerous  mission,  I 
offer  for  your  bed  the  earth,  for  your  canopy  the  sky,  for 
your  bread  stones;  and  when  the  flash  of  bayonets  shall 
fling  into  your  face  from  the  Square  the  challenge  of 
martial  law,  the  protection  I  promise  you — is  exile,  im 
prisonment,  and  death!  Let  the  ten  men  who  accept 
these  terms  step  forward  four  paces." 

With  a  single  impulse  the  whole  double  line  of  forty 
white-and-scarlet  figures  moved  quickly  forward  four  steps  I 

The  leader  shook  hands  with  each  man,  his  voice  throb 
bing  with  emotion  as  he  said: 

"Stand  together  like  this,  men,  and  armies  will  march 
and  countermarch  over  the  South  in  vain!  We  will  save 
the  life  of  our  people." 


The  Banner  of  the  Dragon  339 

The  ten  guides  selected  by  the  Grand  Dragon  rode 
forward,  and  each  led  a  division  of  one  hundred  men 
through  the  ten  townships  of  the  county  and  successfully 
disarmed  every  negro  before  day  without  the  loss  of  a  life. 

The  remaining  squadron  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  men 
from  Hambright,  accompanied  by  the  Grand  Titan  in 
command  of  the  Province  of  Western  Hill  Counties,  were 
led  by  Ben  Cameron  into  Piedmont  as  the  waning  moon 
rose  between  twelve  and  one  o'clock. 

They  marched  past  Stoneman's  place  on  the  way  to  the 
negro  armory,  which  stood  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street 
a  block  below. 

The  wild  music  of  the  beat  of  a  thousand  hoofs  on  the 
cobblestones  of  the  street  waked  every  sleeper.  The  old 
Commoner  hobbled  to  his  window  and  watched  them  pass, 
his  big  hands  fumbling  nervously,  and  his  soul  stirred  to 
its  depths. 

The  ghostlike  shadowy  columns  moved  slowly  with  the 
deliberate  consciousness  of  power.  The  scarlet  circles  on 
their  breasts  could  be  easily  seen  when  one  turned  toward 
the  house,  as  could  the  big  red  letters  K.K.K.  on  each 
horse's  flank. 

In  the  centre  of  the  line  waved  from  a  gold-tipped  spear 
the  battleflag  of  the  Klan.  As  they  passed  the  bright  lights 
burning  at  his  gate,  old  Stoneman  could  see  this  standard 
plainly.  The  huge  black  dragon  with  flaming  eyes  and 
tongue  seemed  a  living  thing  crawling  over  a  scarlet- 
tipped  yellow  cloud. 

At  the  window  above  stood  a  little  figure  watching  that 
banner  of  the  Dragon  pass  with  aching  heart. 


340  The  Clansman 

Phil  stood  at  another,  smiling  with  admiration  for  their 
daring: 

"  By  George,  it  stirs  the  blood  to  see  it!  You  can't  crush 
men  of  that  breed!" 

The  watchers  were  not  long  in  doubt  as  to  what  the 
raiders  meant. 

They  deployed  quickly  around  the  armory.  A  whistle 
rang  its  shrill  cry,  and  a  volley  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
carbines  and  revolvers  smashed  every  glass  in  the  building. 
The  sentinel  had  already  given  the  alarm,  and  the  drum 
was  calling  the  startled  negroes  to  their  arms.  They  re 
turned  the  volley  twice,  and  for  ten  minutes  were  answered 
with  the  steady  crack  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  guns.  A 
white  flag  appeared  at  the  door,  and  the  firing  ceared. 
The  negroes  laid  down  their  arms  and  surrendered.  All 
save  three  were  allowed  to  go  to  their  homes  for  the  night 
and  carry  their  wounded  with  them. 

The  three  confederates  in  the  crime  of  then*  captain 
were  bound  and  led  away.  In  a  few  minutes  the  crash 
of  a  volley  told  their  end. 

The  little  white  figure  rapped  at  Phil's  door  and  placet* 
a  trembling  hand  on  his  arm: 

"Phil,"  she  said  softly,  "please  go  to  the  hotel  and  staj 
until  you  know  all  that  has  happened — until  you  know  the 
full  list  of  those  killed  and  wounded.  I'll  wait.  You 
understand  ?  " 

As  he  stooped  and  kissed  her,  he  felt  a  hot  tear  roll 
down  her  cheek. 

"Yes,  little  Sis,  I  understand,"  he  answered. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  REIGN  OF  THE  KLAN 

IN  quick  succession  every  county  followed  the  example 
of  Ulster,  and  the  arms  furnished  the  negroes  by  the 
state  and  National  governments  were  in  the  hands 
of  the  Klan.  The  League  began  to  collapse  in  a  panic  of 
terror. 

A  gale  of  chivalrous  passion  and  high  action,  con 
tagious  and  intoxicating,  swept  the  white  race.  The 
moral,  mental,  and  physical  earthquake  which  followed 
the  first  assault  on  one  of  their  daughters  revealed  the 
unity  of  the  racial  life  of  the  people.  Within  the  span  of  a 
week  they  had  lived  a  century. 

The  spirit  of  the  South  "like  lightning  had  at  last 
leaped  forth,  half  startled  at  itself,  its  feet  upon  the  ashes 
and  the  rags,"  its  hands  tight-gripped  on  the  throat  of 
tyrant,  thug,  and  thief. 

It  was  the  resistless  movement  of  a  race,  not  of  any 
man  or  leader  of  men.  The  secret  weapon  with  which 
they  struck  was  the  most  terrible  and  efficient  in  human 
history — these  pale  hosts  of  white-and-scarlet  horsemen! 
They  struck  shrouded  in  a  mantle  of  darkness  and  terror. 
They  struck  where  the  power  of  resistance  was  weakest 
and  the  blow  least  suspected.  Discovery  or  retaliation 
was  impossible.  Not  a  single  disguise  was  ever  pene- 


342  The  Clansman 

trated.  All  was  planned  and  ordered  as  by  destiny.  The 
accused  was  tried  by  secret  tribunal,  sentenced  without 
a  hearing,  executed  in  the  dead  of  night  without  warning, 
mercy,  or  appeal.  The  movements  of  the  Klan  were  like 
clockwork,  without  a  word,  save  the  whistle  of  the  Night 
Hawk,  the  crack  of  his  revolver,  and  the  hoof-beat  of 
swift  horses  moving  like  figures  in  a  dream,  and  vanishing 
in  mists  and  shadows. 

The  old  club-footed  Puritan,  in  his  mad  scheme  of 
vengeance  and  party  power,  had  overlooked  the  Cove 
nanter,  the  backbone  of  the  South.  This  man  had  just 
begun  to  fight!  His  race  had  defied  the  Crown  of  Great 
Britain  a  hundred  years  from  the  caves  and  wilds  of 
Scotland  and  Ireland,  taught  the  English  people  how  to 
slay  a  king  and  build  a  commonwealth,  and,  driven  into 
exile  into  the  wilderness  of  America,  led  our  Revolution, 
peopled  the  hills  of  the  South,  and  conquered  the  West. 

As  the  young  German  patriots  of  1812  had  organised 
the  great  struggle  for  their  liberties  under  the  noses  of 
the  garrisons  of  Napoleon,  so  Ben  Cameron  had  met  the 
leaders  of  his  race  in  Nashville,  Tennessee,  within  the 
picket  lines  of  thirty-five  thousand  hostile  troops,  and  in 
the  ruins  of  an  old  homestead  discussed  and  adopted  the 
ritual  of  the  Invisible  Empire. 

Within  a  few  months  this  Empire  overspread  a  terri 
tory  larger  than  modern  Europe.  In  the  approaching 
election  it  was  reaching  out  its  daring  white  hands  to  tear 
the  fruits  of  victory  from  twenty  million  victorious  con 
querors. 

The  triumph  at  which  they  aimed  was  one  of  incredible 


The  Reign  of  the  Klan  343 

grandeur.  They  had  risen  to  snatch  power  out  of  defeat 
and  death.  Under  their  clan  -  leadership  the  Southern 
people  had  suddenly  developed  the  courage  of  the  lion, 
the  cunning  of  the  fox,  and  the  deathless  faith  of  religious 
enthusiasts. 

Society  was  fused  in  the  white  heat  of  one  sublime 
thought  and  beat  with  the  pulse  of  the  single  will  of  the 
Grand  Wizard  of  the  Klan  at  Memphis. 

Women  and  children  had  eyes  and  saw  not,  ears  and 
heard  not.  Over  four  hundred  thousand  disguises  for 
men  and  horses  were  made  by  the  women  of  the  South, 
and  not  one  secret  ever  passed  their  lips! 

With  magnificent  audacity,  infinite  patience,  and  re 
morseless  zeal,  a  conquered  people  were  struggling  to 
turn  his  own  weapon  against  their  conqueror,  and  beat 
his  brains  out  with  the  bludgeon  he  had  placed  in  the 
hands  of  their  former  slaves. 

Behind  the  tragedy  of  Reconstruction  stood  the  re 
markable  man  whose  iron  will  alone  had  driven  these 
terrible  measures  through  the  chaos  of  passion,  corrup 
tion,  and  bewilderment  which  followed  the  first  assassina 
tion  of  an  American  President.  As  he  leaned  on  his 
window  in  this  village  of  the  South  and  watched  in  speech 
less  rage  the  struggle  at  that  negro  armory,  he  felt  for  the 
first  time  the  foundations  sinking  beneath  his  feet.  As 
he  saw  the  black  cowards  surrender  in  terror,  noted  the 
indifference  and  cool  defiance  with  which  those  white 
horsemen  rode  and  shot,  he  knew  that  he  had  collided 
with  the  ultimate  force  which  his  whole  scheme  had  over 
looked,. 


344  The  Clansman 

He  turned  on  his  big  club  foot  from  the  window,  clinched 
his  fist,  and  muttered: 

"  But  I'll  hang  that  man  for  this  deed  if  it's  the  last  act 
of  my  life!" 

The  morning  brought  dismay  to  the  negro,  the  carpet 
bagger,  and  the  scalawag  of  Ulster.  A  peculiar  freak  of 
weather  in  the  early  morning  added  to  their  terror.  The 
sun  rose  clear  and  bright  except  for  a  slight  fog  that 
floated  from  the  river  valley,  increasing  the  roar  of  the  falls. 
About  nine  o'clock,  a  huge  black  shadow  suddenly  rushed 
over  Piedmont  from  the  west,  and  in  a  moment  the  town 
was  shrouded  in  twilight.  The  cries  of  birds  were  hushed, 
and  chickens  went  to  roost  as  in  a  total  eclipse  of  the  sun. 
Knots  of  people  gathered  on  the  streets  and  gazed  un 
easily  at  the  threatening  skies.  Hundreds  of  negroes 
began  to  sing  and  shout  and  pray,  while  sensible  people 
feared  a  cyclone  or  cloud-burst.  A  furious  downpour  of 
rain  was  swiftly  followed  by  sunshine,  and  the  negroes 
rose  from  their  knees,  shouting  with  joy  to  find  the  end 
of  the  world  had  after  all  been  postponed. 

But  that  the  end  of  their  brief  reign  in  a  white  man's 
land  had  come,  but  few  of  them  doubted.  The  events 
of  the  night  were  sufficiently  eloquent.  The  movement 
of  the  clouds  in  sympathy  was  unnecessary. 

Old  Stoneman  sent  for  Lynch,  and  found  he  had  fled 
to  Columbia.  He  sent  for  the  only  lawyer  in  town  whom 
the  Lieutenant-Go vernor  had  told  him  could  be  trusted. 

The  lawyer  was  polite,  but  his  refusal  to  undertake  the 
prosecution  of  any  alleged  member  of  the  Klan  was  em 
phatic. 


The  Reign  of  the  Klan  345 

"  I'm  a  sinful  man,  sir,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "  Besides, 
I  prefer  to  live,  on  general  principles." 

"I'll  pay  you  well,"  urged  the  old  man,  "and  if  you 
secure  the  conviction  of  Ben  Cameron,  the  man  we  be 
lieve  to  be  the  head  of  this  Klan,  I'll  give  you  ten  thousand 
dollars." 

The  lawyer  was  whittling  on  a  piece  of  pine  medita 
tively. 

"That's  a  big  lot  of  money  in  these  hard  times.  I'd 
like  to  own  it,  but  I'm  afraid  it  wouldn't  be  good  at  the 
bank  on  the  other  side.  I  prefer  the  green  fields  of  South 
Carolina  to  those  of  Eden.  My  harp  isn't  in  tune." 

Stoneman  snorted  in  disgust: 

"Will  you  ask  the  Mayor  to  call  to  see  me  at  once?" 

"We  ain't  got  none,"  was  the  laconic  answer. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Haven't  you  heard  what  happened  to  his  Honour 
last  night?" 

"No." 

"The  Klan  called  to  see  him,"  went  on  the  lawyer  with 
a  quizzical  look,  "at  3  A.  M.  Rather  early  for  a  visit  of 
state.  They  gave  him  forty-nine  lashes  on  his  bare  back, 
and  persuaded  him  that  the  climate  of  Piedmont  didn't 
agree  with  him.  His  Honour,  Mayor  Bizzel,  left  this 
morning  with  his  negro  wife  and  brood  of  mulatto  children 
for  his  home,  the  slums  of  Cleveland,  Ohio.  We  are  de 
prived  of  his  illustrious  example,  and  he  may  not  be  a 
wiser  man  than  when  he  came,  but  he's  a  much  sadder 
one." 

Stoneman  dismissed  the  even-tempered  member  of  the 


346  The  Clansman 

bar,  and  wired  Lynch  to  return  immediately  to  Piedmont. 
He  determined  to  conduct  the  prosecution  of  Ben  Cam 
eron  in  person.  With  the  aid  of  the  Lieutenant-Governor 
he  succeeded  in  finding  a  man  who  would  dare  to  swear  out 
a  warrant  against  him. 

As  a  preliminary  skirmish  he  was  charged  with  a  vio 
lation  of  the  statutory  laws  of  the  United  States  relating 
to  Reconstruction  and  arraigned  before  a  Commissioner. 

Against  Elsie's  agonising  protest,  old  Stoneman  ap 
peared  at  the  court-house  to  conduct  the  prosecution. 

In  the  absence  of  the  United  States  Marshal,  the  war 
rant  had  been  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  sheriff,  return 
able  at  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  fixed  for  the  trial.  The 
new  Sheriff  of  Ulster  was  no  less  a  personage  than  Uncle 
Aleck,  who  had  resigned  his  seat  in  the  House  to  accept 
the  more  profitable  one  of  High  Sheriff  of  the  County. 

There  was  a  long  delay  in  beginning  the  trial.  At 
10:30,  not  a  single  witness  summoned  had  appeared,  nor 
had  the  prisoner  seen  fit  to  honour  the  court  with  his 
presence. 

Old  Stoneman  sat  fumbling  his  hands  hi  nervous  sullen 
rage,  while  Phil  looked  on  with  amusement. 

"Send  for  the  sheriff,"  he  growled  to  the  Commissioner. 

In  a  moment  Aleck  appeared  bowing  humbly  and  po 
litely  to  every  white  man  he  passed.  He  bent  half  way 
to  the  floor  before  the  Commissioner  and  said: 

"Marse  Ben  be  here  in  er  minute,  sah.  He's  er  eatin' 
his  breakfus'.  I  run  erlong  erhead." 

Stoneman's  face  was  a  thundercloud  as  he  scrambled 
to  his  feet  and  glared  at  Aleck; 


The  Reign  of  the  Klan  347 

"  Marse  Ben  ?    Did  you  say  Marse  Ben  ?    Who's  he  ?  " 

Aleck  bowed  low  again. 

"De   young   Colonel,   sah — Marse   Ben   Cameron." 

"And  you  the  sheriff  of  this  county  trotted  along  in 
front  to  make  the  way  smooth  for  your  prisoner?" 

"Yessah!" 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  escort  prisoners  before  a  court  ? " 

"Dem  kin*  er  prisoners — yessah." 

"Why  didn't  you  walk  beside  him?" 

Aleck  grinned  from  ear  to  ear  and  bowed  very  low: 

"He  say  sumfin'  to  me,  sah!" 

"And  what  did  he  say?" 

Aleck  shook  his  head  and  laughed: 

"I  hates  ter  insinuate  ter  de  cote,  sah!" 

"What  did  he  say  to  you!"  thundered  Stoneman. 

"He  say  —  he  say  —  ef  I  walk  'longside  er  him  —  he 
knock  hell  outen  me,  sah!" 

"Indeed." 

"Yessah,  en  I  'spec*  he  would,"  said  Aleck,  insinuat 
ingly.  "La,  he's  a  gemman,  sah,  he  is!  He  tell  me  he 
come  right  on.  He  be  here  sho'." 

Stoneman  whispered  to  Lynch,  turned  with  a  look  of 
contempt  to  Aleck,  and  said: 

"Mr.  Sheriff,  you  interest  me.  Will  you  be  kind 
enough  to  explain  to  this  court  what  has  happened 
to  you  lately  to  so  miraculously  change  your 
manners  ?  " 

Aleck  glanced  around  the  room  nervously. 

"I  seed  sumfin' — a  vision,  sah!" 

"A  vision?    Are  you  given  to  visions?" 


348  The  Clansman 

"Na-sah.  Dis  yere  wuz  er  sho'  'nuff  vision!  I  wuz  er 
feelin'  bad  all  day  yistiddy.  Soon  in  de  mawnin',  ez  I 
wuz  gwine  'long  de  road,  I  see  a  big  black  bird  er  settin* 
on  de  fence.  He  flop  his  wings,  look  right  at  me  en  say, 
'Corpse!  Corpse!  Corpse!'" — Aleck's  voice  dropped  to 
a  whisper — "  'en  las'  night  de  Ku  Kluxes  come  ter  see  me, 
sah!" 

Stoneman  lifted  his  beetling  brows. 

"That's  interesting.  We  are  searching  for  informa 
tion  on  that  subject." 

"Yessah!  Dey  wuz  Sperits,  ridin'  white  bosses  wid 
flowin*  white  robes,  en  big  blood-red  eyes!  De  hosses 
wuz  twenty  feet  high,  en  some  er  de  Sperits  wuz  higher 
dan  dis  cote -house!  Dey  wuz  all  bal'  headed,  'cept 
right  on  de  top  whar  dere  wuz  er  straight  blaze  er  fire  shot 
up  in  de  air  ten  foot  high!" 

"What  did  they  say  to  you?" 

"Dey  say  dat  ef  I  didn't  design  de  sheriff's  office,  go 
back  ter  farmin*  en  behave  myself,  dey  had  er  job  waitin* 
fer  me  in  hell,  sah.  En  shos*  you  born  dey  wuz  right 
from  dar!" 

"Of  course!"  sneered  the  old  Commoner. 

"Yessah!  Hit's  des  lak  I  tell  yer.  One  ob  'em  makes 
me  fetch  'im  er  drink  er  water.  I  carry  two  bucketsful 
ter  'im  'fo'  I  git  done,  en  I  swar  ter  God  he  drink  it  all 
right  dar  'fo'  my  eyes!  He  say  hit  wuz  pow'ful  dry  down 
below,  sah!  En  den  I  feel  sumfin'  bus'  loose  inside  er 
me,  en  I  disre member  all  dat  come  ter  pass!  I  made  er 
jump  fer  de  ribber  bank,  en  de  next  I  knowed  I  wuz  er 
pullin'  fur  de  odder  sho'o  I'se  er  pow'ful  good  swimmer, 


The  Reign  of  the  Klan  349 

sah,  but  I  nebber  git  ercross  er  creek  befo*  ez  quick  es  I 
got  ober  de  ribber  las'  night." 

"And  you  think  of  going  back  to  farming?" 

"I  done  begin  plowin'  dis  mornin',  marsterl" 

"Don't  you  call  me  marster!"  yelled  the  old  man. 
"Are  you  the  sheriff  of  this  county?" 

Aleck  laughed  loudly. 

"Na-sah!  Dat's  er  joke!  I  ain't  nuttin'  but  er  plain 
nigger — I  wants  peace,  judge." 

"Evidently  we  need  a  new  sheriff." 

"Dat's  what  I  tell  'em,  sah,  dis  mornin' — en  I  des 
flings  mysef  on  de  ignance  er  de  cote!" 

Phil  laughed  aloud,  and  his  father's  colourless  eyes 
began  to  spit  cold  poison. 

"About  what  time  do  you  think  your  master,  Colonel 
Cameron,  will  honour  us  with  his  presence?"  he  asked 
Aleck. 

Again  the  sheriff  bowed. 

"He's  er  comin*  right  now,  lak  I  tole  yer — he's  er  gem- 
man,  sah." 

Ben  walked  briskly  into  the  room  and  confronted  the 
Commissioner. 

Without  apparently  noticing  his  presence,  Stoneman 
said: 

"In  the  absence  of  witnesses  we  accept  the  discharge 
of  this  warrant,  pending  developments." 

Ben  turned  on  his  heel,  pressed  Phil's  hand  as  he  passed 
through  the  crowd,  and  disappeared. 

The  old  Commoner  drove  to  the  telegraph  office  and 
sent  a  message  of  more  than  a  thousand  words  to  the 


35°  The  Clansman 

White  House,  a  copy  of  which  the  operator  delivered  to 
Ben  Cameron  within  an  hour. 

President  Grant  next  morning  issued  a  proclamation 
declaring  the  nine  Scotch-Irish  hill  counties  of  South 
Carolina  in  a  state  of  insurrection,  ordered  an  army  corps 
of  five  thousand  men  to  report  there  for  duty,  pending 
the  further  necessity  of  martial  law  and  the  suspension 
of  the  writ  of  Habeas  Corpus. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  COUNTER  STROKE 

FROM  the  hour  he  had  watched  the  capture  of  the 
armory  old  Stoneman  felt  in  the  air  a  current 
against  him  which  was  electric,  as  if  the  dead 
had  heard  the  cry  of  the  clansmen's  greeting,  risen  and 
rallied  to  their  pale  ranks. 

The  daring  campaign  these  men  were  waging  took 
his  breath.  They  were  going  not  only  to  defeat  his  dele 
gation  to  Congress,  but  send  their  own  to  take  their  seats, 
reinforced  by  the  enormous  power  of  a  suppressed  Negro 
vote.  The  blow  was  so  sublime  in  its  audacity,  he  laughed 
in  secret  admiration  while  he  raved  and  cursed. 

The  army  corps  took  possession  of  the  hill  counties, 
quartering  from  five  to  six  hundred  regulars  at  each  court 
house;  but  the  mischief  was  done.  The  state  was  on 
fire.  The  eighty  thousand  rifles  with  which  the  negroes 
had  been  armed  were  now  in  the  hands  of  their  foes. 
A  white  rifle-club  was  organised  in  every  town,  village,  and 
hamlet.  They  attended  the  public  meetings  with  their 
guns,  drilled  in  front  of  the  speakers'  stands,  yelled,  hooted, 
hissed,  cursed,  and  jeered  at  the  orators  who  dared  to 
champion  or  apologise  for  Negro  rule.  At  night  the 
hoof-beat  of  squadrons  of  pale  horsemen  and  the  crack 

351 


352  The  Clansman 

of  their  revolvers  struck  terror  to  the  heart  of  every  negro, 
carpet-bagger,  and  scalawag. 

There  was  a  momentary  lull  in  the  excitement,  which 
Stoneman  mistook  for  fear,  at  the  appearance  of  the  troops. 
He  had  the  Governor  appoint  a  white  sheriff,  a  young 
scalawag  from  the  mountains  who  was  a  noted  moon 
shiner  and  desperado.  He  arrested  over  a  hundred 
leading  men  in  the  county,  charged  them  with  complicity 
in  the  killing  of  the  three  members  of  the  African  Guard, 
and  instructed  the  judge  and  clerk  of  the  court  to  refuse 
bail  and  commit  them  to  jail  under  military  guard. 

To  his  amazement,  the  prisoners  came  into  Piedmont 
armed  and  mounted.  They  paid  no  attention  to  the 
deputy  sheriffs  who  were  supposed  to  have  them  in 
charge.  They  deliberately  formed  in  line  under  Ben 
Cameron's  direction  and  he  led  them  in  a  parade  through 
the  streets. 

The  five  hundred  United  States  regulars  who  were 
camped  on  the  river  bank  were  Westerners.  Ben  led 
his  squadron  of  armed  prisoners  in  front  of  this  camp  and 
took  them  through  the  evolutions  of  cavalry  with  the  pre 
cision  of  veterans.  The  soldiers  dropped  their  games  and 
gathered,  laughing,  to  watch  them.  The  drill  ended 
with  a  double-rank  charge  at  the  river  embankment. 
When  they  drew  every  horse  on  his  haunches  on  the  brink, 
firing  a  volley  with  a  single  crash,  a  wild  cheer  broke  from 
the  soldiers,  and  the  officers  rushed  from  then*  tents. 

Ben  wheeled  his  men,  galloped  in  front  of  the  camp, 
drew  them  up  at  dress  parade,  and  saluted.  A  low  word 
of  command  from  a  trooper,  and  the  Westerners  quickly 


The  Counter  Stroke  353 

formed  in  ranks,  returned  the  salute,  and  cheered.  The 
officers  rushed  up,  cursing,  and  drove  the  men  back  to 
their  tents. 

The  horsemen  laughed,  fired  a  volley  in  the  air,  cheered, 
and  galloped  back  to  the  court-house.  The  court  was 
glad  to  get  rid  of  them.  There  was  no  question  raised 
over  technicalities  in  making  out  bail-bonds.  The  clerk 
wrote  the  names  of  imaginary  bondsmen  as  fast  as  his  pen 
could  fly,  while  the  perspiration  stood  in  beads  on  his  red 
forehead. 

Another  telegram  from  old  Stoneman  to  the  White 
House,  and  the  Writ  of  Habeas  Corpus  was  suspended 
and  Martial  Law  proclaimed. 

Enraged  beyond  measure  at  the  salute  from  the  troops, 
he  had  two  companies  of  negro  regulars  sent  from  Colum 
bia,  and  they  camped  in  the  Court-House  Square. 

He  determined  to  make  a  desperate  effort  to  crush  the 
fierce  spirit  before  which  his  forces  were  being  driven  like 
chaff.  He  induced  Bizzel  to  return  from  Cleveland  with 
his  negro  wife  and  children.  He  was  escorted  to  the  City 
Hall  and  reinstalled  as  Mayor  by  the  full  force  of  seven- 
hundred  troops,  and  a  negro  guard  placed  around  his 
house.  Stoneman  had  Lynch  run  an  excursion  from  the 
Black  Belt,  and  brought  a  thousand  negroes  to  attend  a 
final  rally  at  Piedmont.  He  placarded  the  town  with 
posters  on  which  were  printed  the  Civil  Rights  Bill 
and  the  proclamation  of  the  President  declaring 
Martial  Law. 

Ben  watched  this  day  dawn  with  nervous  dread.  He 
had  passed  a  sleepless  night,  riding  in  person  to  every 


354  The  Clansman 

Den  of  the  Klan  and  issuing  positive  orders  that  no  white 
man  should  come  to  Piedmont. 

A  clash  with  the  authority  of  the  United  States  he  had 
avoided  from  the  first  as  a  matter  cf  principle.  It  was 
essential  to  his  success  that  his  men  should  commit  no  act 
of  desperation  which  would  imperil  his  plans.  Above 
all,  he  wished  to  avoid  a  clash  with  old  Stoneman  per 
sonally. 

The  arrival  of  the  big  excursion  was  the  signal  for  a 
revival  of  negro  insolence  which  had  been  planned.  The 
men  brought  from  the  Eastern  part  of  the  state  were 
selected  for  the  purpose.  They  marched  over  the  town 
yelling  and  singing.  A  crowd  of  them,  half  drunk, 
formed  themselves  three  abreast  and  rushed  the  sidewalks, 
pushing  every  white  man,  woman,  and  child  into  the 
street. 

They  met  Phil  on  his  way  to  the  hotel  and  pushed  him 
into  the  gutter.  He  said  nothing,  crossed  the  street, 
bought  a  revolver,  loaded  it  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  He 
was  not  popular  with  the  negroes,  and  he  had  been  shot 
at  twice  on  his  way  from  the  mills  at  night.  The  whole 
affair  of  this  rally,  over  which  his  father  meant  to  preside, 
filled  him  with  disgust,  and  he  was  in  an  ugly  mood. 

Lynch's  speech  was  bold,  bitter,  and  incendiary,  and  at 
its  close  the  drunken  negro  troopers  from  the  local  garri 
son  began  to  slouch  through  the  streets,  two  and  two,  look 
ing  for  trouble. 

At  the  close  of  the  speaking,  Stoneman  called  the  officer 
in  command  of  these  troops,  and  said: 

"Major,  I  wish  this  rally  to-day  to  be  a  proclamation 


The  Counter  Stroke  355 

of  the  supremacy  of  law,  and  the  enforcement  of  the 
equality  of  every  man  under  law.  Your  troops  are  en 
titled  to  the  rights  of  white  men.  I  understand  the  hotel 
table  has  been  free  to-day  to  the  soldiers  from  the  camp 
on  the  river.  They  are  returning  the  courtesy  extended 
to  the  criminals  who  drilled  before  them.  Send  two  of 
your  black  troops  down  for  dinner  and  see  that  it  is  served. 
I  wish  an  example  for  the  state." 

"It  will  be  a  dangerous  performance,  sir,"  the  major 
protested. 

The  old  Commoner  furrowed  his  brow. 

"Have  you  been  instructed  to  act  under  my  orders?" 

"I  have,  sir,"  said  the  officer,  saluting. 

"Then  do  as  I  tell  you,"  snapped  Stoneman. 

Ben  Cameron  had  kept  indoors  all  day,  and  dined  with 
fifty  of  the  Western  troopers  whom  he  had  identified  as 
leading  in  the  friendly  demonstration  to  his  men.  Mar 
garet,  who  had  been  busy  with  Mrs.  Cameron  entertain 
ing  these  soldiers,  was  seated  in  the  dining-room  alone 
eating  her  dinner,  while  Phil  waited  impatiently  in  the 
parlour. 

The  guests  had  all  gone  when  two  big  negro  troopers, 
fighting  drunk,  walked  into  the  hotel.  They  went  to 
the  water-cooler  and  drank  ostentatiously,  thrusting 
their  thick  lips  coated  with  filth  far  into  the  cocoanut 
dipper,  while  a  dirty  hand  grasped  its  surface. 

They  pushed  the  dining-room  door  open  and  suddenly 
flopped  down  beside  Margaret. 

She  attempted  to  rise,  and  cried  in  rage: 

"How  dare  you,  black  brutes?" 


3S&  The  Clansman 

One  of  them  threw  his  arm  around  her  chair,  thrust  his 
face  into  hers,  and  said  with  a  laugh: 

"Don't  hurry,  my  beauty;  stay  and  take  dinner  wid  us!'1 

Margaret  again  attempted  to  rise,  and  screamed,  as 
Phil  rushed  into  the  room  with  drawn  revolver.  One  of 
the  negroes  fired  at  him,  missed,  and  the  next  moment 
dropped  dead  with  a  bullet  through  his  heart. 

The  other  leaped  across  the  table  and  through  the  open 
window. 

Margaret  turned,  confronting  both  Phil  and  Ben  with 
revolvers  in  their  hands,  and  fainted. 

Ben  hurried  Phil  out  the  back  door  and  persuaded  him 
to  fly. 

"Man,  you  must  go!  We  must  not  have  a  riot  here  to 
day.  There's  no  telling  what  will  happen.  A  disturb 
ance  now,  and  my  men  will  swarm  into  town  to-night. 
For  God's  sake  go,  until  things  are  quiet!" 

"But  I  tell  you  I'll  face  it.  I'm  not  afraid,"  said  Phil 
quietly. 

"No,  but  I  am,"  urged  Ben.  "These  two  hundred 
negroes  are  armed  and  drunk.  Their  officers  may  not 
be  able  to  control  them,  and  they  may  lay  their  hands  on 
you — go — go! — go! — you  must  go!  The  train  is  due  in 
fifteen  minutes." 

He  half  lifted  him  on  a  horse  tied  behind  the  hotel, 
leaped  on  another,  galloped  to  the  flag-station  two  miles 
out  of  town,  and  put  him  on  the  north-bound  train. 

"Stay  in  Charlotte  until  I  wire  for  you,"  was  Ben's 
parting  injunction. 

He  turned  his  horse's  head  for  McAllister's,  sent  the 


The  Counter  Stroke  357 

two  boys  with  all  speed  to  the  Cyclops  of  each  of  the  ten 
township  Dens  with  positive  orders  to  disregard  all  wild 
rumours  from  Piedmont  and  keep  every  man  out  of  town 
for  two  days. 

As  he  rode  back  he  met  a  squad  of  mounted  white  regu 
lars,  who  arrested  him.  The  trooper's  companion  had 
sworn  positively  that  he  was  the  man  who  killed  the  negro. 

Within  thirty  minutes  he  was  tried  by  drum-head  court 
martial  and  sentenced  to  be  shot. 


CHAPTER  VH 

THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER 

SWEET  was  the  secret  joy  of  old  Stoneman  over  the 
fate  of  Ben  Cameron.     His  death  sentence  would 
strike  terror  to  his  party,  and  his  prompt  execu 
tion,  on  the  morning  of  the  election  but  two  days  off, 
would  turn  the  tide,  save  the  state,  and  rescue  his  daugh 
ter  from  a  hated  alliance. 

He  determined  to  bar  the  last  way  of  escape.  He  knew 
the  Klan  would  attempt  a  rescue,  and  stop  at  no  means 
fair  or  foul  short  of  civil  war.  Afraid  of  the  loyalty  of  the 
white  battalions  quartered  in  Piedmont,  he  determined  to 
leave  immediately  for  Spartanburg,  order  an  exchange 
of  garrisons,  and,  when  the  death  warrant  was  returned 
from  headquarters,  place  its  execution  in  the  hands  of  a 
stranger,  to  whom  appeal  would  be  vain.  He  knew  such 
an  officer  in  the  Spartanburg  post,  a  man  of  fierce,  vin 
dictive  nature,  once  court  martialed  for  cruelty,  who 
hated  every  Southern  white  man  with  mortal  venom.  He 
would  put  him  in  command  of  the  death-watch. 

He  hired  a  fast  team  and  drove  across  the  county  with 
all  speed,  doubly  anxious  to  get  out  of  town  before  Elsie 
discovered  the  tragedy  and  appealed  to  him  for  mercy, 
Her  tears  and  agony  would  be  more  than  he  could  endure. 
She  would  stay  indoors  on  account  of  the  crowds,  and  he 

358 


The  Snare  of  the  Fowler  359 

would  not  be  missed  until  evening,  when  safely  beyond 
her  reach. 

When  Phil  arrived  at  Charlotte  he  found  an  immense 
crowd  at  the  bulletin  board  in  front  of  the  Observer  office 
reading  the  account  of  the  Piedmont  tragedy.  To  his 
horror  he  learned  of  the  arrest,  trial,  and  sentence  of  Ben 
for  the  deed  which  he  had  done. 

He  rushed  to  the  office  of  the  Division  Superintendent 
of  the  Piedmont  Air  Line  Railroad,  revealed  his  identity, 
told  him  the  true  story  of  the  tragedy,  and  begged  for  a 
special  to  carry  him  back.  The  Superintendent,  who  was 
a  clansman,  not  only  agreed,  but  within  an  hour  had  the 
special  ready  and  two  cars  filled  with  stern-looking  men 
to  accompany  him.  Phil  asked  no  questions.  He  knew 
what  it  meant.  The  train  stopped  at  Gastonia  and 
King's  Mountain  and  took  on  a  hundred  more  men. 

The  special  pulled  into  Piedmont  at  dusk.  Phil  ran  to 
the  Commandant  and  asked  for  an  interview  with  Ben 
alone. 

"For  what  purpose,  sir?"  the  officer  asked. 

Phil  resorted  to  a  ruse,  knowing  the  Commandant  to 
be  unaware  of  any  difference  of  opinion  between  him  and 
his  father. 

"I  hold  a  commission  to  obtain  a  confession  from  the 
prisoner  which  may  save  his  life  by  destroying  the  Ku 
Klux  Klan." 

He  was  admitted  at  once  and  the  guard  ordered  to  with 
draw  until  the  interview  ended. 

Phil  took  Ben  Cameron's  place,  exchanging  hat  and 


360  The  Clansmaia 

coat,  and  wrote  a  note  to  his  father,  telling  in  detail  the 
truth,  and  asked  for  his  immediate  interference. 

"  Deliver  that,  and  I'll  be  out  of  here  in  two  hours,"  he 
said,  as  he  placed  the  note  in  Ben's  hand. 

"  I'll  go  straight  to  the  house,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

The  exchange  of  the  Southerner's  slouch  hat  and  Prince 
Albert  for  Phil's  derby  and  short  coat  completely  fooled 
the  guard  in  the  dim  light.  The  men  were  as  much  alike 
as  twins  except  the  shade  of  difference  in  the  colour  of 
then*  hair.  He  passed  the  sentinel  without  a  challenge, 
and  walked  rapidly  toward  Stoneman's  house. 

On  the  way  he  was  astonished  to  meet  five  hundred 
soldiers  just  arrived  on  a  special  from  Spartanburg. 
Amazed  at  the  unexpected  movement,  he  turned  and  fol 
lowed  them  back  to  the  jail. 

They  halted  in  front  of  the  building  he  had  just  vacated, 
and  their  commander  handed  an  official  document  to  the 
officer  in  charge.  The  guard  was  changed  and  a  cordon 
of  soldiers  encircled  the  prison. 

The  Piedmont  garrison  had  received  notice  by  wire  to 
move  to  Spartanburg,  and  Ben  heard  the  beat  of  their 
drums  already  marching  to  board  the  special. 

He  pressed  forward  and  asked  an  interview  with  the 
Captain  in  command. 

The  answer  came  with  a  brutal  oath: 

"I  have  been  warned  against  all  the  tricks  and  lies  this 
town  can  hatch.  The  commander  of  the  death-watch 
will  permit  no  interview,  receive  no  visitors,  hear  no  appeal, 
and  allow  no  Communication  with  the  prisoner  until  after 


The  Snare  of  the  Fowler  361 

the  execution.  You  can  announce  this  to  whom  it  may 
concern." 

"  But  you've  got  the  wrong  man.  You  have  no  right  to 
execute  him,"  said  Ben,  excitedly. 

"I'll  risk  it,"  he  answered,  with  a  sneer. 

"Great  Godl"  Ben  cried,  beneath  his  breath.  "The 
old  fool  has  entrapped  his  son  in  the  net  he  spread  for  mel" 


CHAPTER  VIII 
A  RIDE  FOR  A  LIFE 

WHEN  Ben  Cameron  failed  to  find  either  Elsie  or 
her  father  at  home,  he  hurried  to  the  hotel, 
walking  under  the  shadows  of  the  trees  to 
avoid  recognition,  though  his  resemblance  to  Phil  would 
have  enaTbled  him  to  pass  in  his  hat  and  coat  unchallenged 
by  any  save  the  keenest  observers. 

He  found  his  mother's  bedroom  door  ajar  and  saw 
Elsie  within  sobbing  in  her  arms.  He  paused,  watched, 
and  listened. 

Never  had  he  seen  his  mother  so  beautiful — her  face 
calm,  intelligent  and  vital,  crowned  with  a  halo  of  gray. 
She  stood,  flushed  and  dignified,  softly  smoothing  the 
golden  hair  of  the  sobbing  girl  whom  she  had  learned  to 
love  as  her  daughter.  Her  whole  being  reflected  the  years 
of  homage  she  had  inspired  in  husband,  children,  and 
neighbours.  What  a  woman!  She  had  made  war  in 
evitable,  fought  it  to  the  bitter  end;  and  in  the  despair  of 
a  Negro  reign  of  terror,  still  the  prophetess  and  high 
priestess  of  a  people,  serene,  undismayed  and  defiant, 
she  had  fitted  the  uniform  of  a  Grand  Dragon  on  her 
last  son,  and  sewed  in  secret  day  and  night  to  equip  his 
men.  And  through  it  all  she  was  without  affectation, 
her  sweet  motherly  ways,  gentle  manner  and  bearing  al 
ways  resistless  to  those  who  came  within  her  influence. 

362 


A  Ride  for  a  Life  363 

"If  he  dies,"  cried  the  tearful  voice,  "I  shall  never  for 
give  myself  for  not  surrendering  without  reserve  and 
fighting  his  battles  with  him!" 

"He  is  not  dead  yet,"  was  the  mother's  firm  answer. 
"Doctor  Cameron  is  on  Queen's  back.  Your  lover's 
men  will  be  riding  to-night — these  young  dare-devil 
Knights  of  the  South,  with  their  life  in  their  hands, 
a  song  on  their  lips,  and  the  scorn  of  death  in 
their  souls!" 

"Then  I'll  ride  with  them,"  cried  the  girl,  suddenly 
lifting  her  head. 

Ben  stepped  into  the  room,  and  with  a  cry  of  joy  Elsie 
sprang  into  his  arms.  The  mother  stood  silent  until 
their  lips  met  in  the  long  tender  kiss  of  the  last  surrender 
of  perfect  love. 

"How  did  you  escape  so  soon?"  she  asked  quietly, 
while  Elsie's  head  still  lay  on  his  breast. 

"Phil  shot  the  brute,  and  I  rushed  him  out  of  town. 
He  heard  the  news,  returned  on  the  special,  took  my 
place,  and  sent  me  for  his  father.  The  guard  has  been 
changed,  and  it's  impossible  to  see  him,  or  communicate 
with  the  new  Commandant " 

Elsie  started  and  turned  pale. 

"And  father  has  hidden  to  avoid  me — merciful  God — 
if  Phil  is  executed " 

"He  isn't  dead  yet,  either,"  said  Ben,  slipping  his  arm 
around  her.  "  But  we  must  save  him  without  a  clash  or 
a  drop  of  bloodshed,  if  possible.  The  fate  of  our  people 
may  hang  on  this.  A  battle  with  United  States  troop i 
HOW  might  mean  ruin  for  the  South 


364  The  Clansman 

"But  you  will  save  him?"  Elsie  pleaded,  looking  into 
his  face. 

"Yes — or  I'll  go  down  with  him,"  was  the  steady  answer. 

"Where  is  Margaret?"  he  asked. 

"Gone  to  McAllister's  with  a  message  from  your 
father,"  Mrs.  Cameron  replied. 

"Tell  her  when  she  returns  to  keep  a  steady  nerve. 
I'll  save  Phil.  Send  her  to  find  her  father.  Tell  him 
to  hold  five  hundred  men  ready  for  action  in  the 
woods  by  the  river  and  the  rest  in  reserve  two  miles 
out  of  town " 

"May  I  go  with  her?"  Elsie  asked,  eagerly. 

"No.  I  may  need  you,"  he  said.  " I  am  going  to  find 
the  old  statesman  now,  if  I  have  to  drag  the  bottomless 
pit.  Wait  here  until  I  return." 

Ben  reached  the  telegraph  office  unobserved,  called  the 
operator  at  Columbia,  and  got  the  Grand  Giant  of  the 
county  into  the  office.  Within  an  hour  he  learned  that 
the  death-warrant  had  been  received  and  approved.  It 
would  be  returned  by  a  messenger  to  Piedmont  on  the 
morning  train.  He  learned  also  that  any  appeal  for  a 
stay  must  be  made  through  the  Honourable  Austin  Stone- 
man,  the  secret  representative  of  the  Government  clothed 
with  this  special  power.  The  execution  had  been  ordered 
the  day  of  the  election,  to  prevent  the  concentration  of  any 
large  force  bent  on  rescue. 

"The  old  fox!"  Ben  muttered. 

From  the  Grand  Giant  at  Spartanburg  he  learned,  after 
a  delay  of  three  hours,  that  Stoneman  had  left  with  a  boy 
in  a  buggy,  which  he  had  hired  for  three  days,  and  re- 


A  Ride  for  a  Life  365 

fused  to  tell  his  destination.  He  promised  to  follow  and 
locate  him  as  quickly  as  possible. 

It  was  the  afternoon  on  the  day  following,  during  the 
progress  of  the  election,  before  Ben  received  the  message 
from  Spartanburg  that  Stoneman  had  been  found  at  the 
Old  Red  Tavern  where  the  roads  crossed  from  Piedmont 
to  Hambright.  It  was  only  twelve  miles  away,  just  over 
the  line  on  the  North  Carolina  side. 

He  walked  with  Margaret  to  the  block  where  Queen 
stood  saddled,  watching  with  pride  the  quiet  air  of  self- 
control  with  which  she  bore  herself. 

"Now,  my  sister,  you  know  the  way  to  the  tavern. 
Ride  for  your  sweetheart's  life.  Bring  the  old  man  here 
by  five  o'clock,  and  we'll  save  Phil  without  a  fight.  Keep 
your  nerve.  The  Commandant  knows  a  regiment  of 
mine  is  lying  in  the  woods,  and  he's  trying  to  slip  out  of 
town  with  his  prisoner.  I'll  stand  by  my  men  ready  for 
a  battle  at  a  moment's  notice,  but  for  God's  sake  get  here 
in  time  to  prevent  it." 

She  stooped  from  the  saddle,  pressed  her  brother's 
hand,  kissed  him,  and  galloped  swiftly  over  the  old  Way 
of  Romance  she  knew  so  well. 

On  reaching  the  tavern,  the  landlord  rudely  denied 
that  any  such  man  was  there,  and  left  her  standing  dazed 
and  struggling  to  keep  back  the  tears. 

A  boy  of  eight,  with  big  wide  friendly  eyes,  slipped  into 
the  room,  looked  up  into  her  face  tenderly,  and  said: 

"He's  the  biggest  liar  in  North  Carolina.  The  old 
man's  right  upstairs  in  the  room  over  your  head.  Come 
on;  I'll  show  you," 


366  The  Clansman 

Margaret  snatched  the  child  in  her  arms  and  kissed 
hun. 

She  knocked  in  vain  for  ten  minutes.  At  last  she  heard 
his  voice  within: 

"Go  away  from  that  door!" 

"I'm  from  Piedmont,  sir,"  cried  Margaret,  "with  an 
important  message  from  the  Commandant  for  you." 

"Yes;  I  saw  you  come.  I  will  not  see  you.  I  know 
everything,  and  I  will  hear  no  appeal." 

"But  you  can  not  know  of  the  exchange  of  men" — 
pleaded  the  girl. 

"  I  tell  you  I  know  all  about  it.     I  will  not  interfere '* 

"But  you  could  not  be  so  cruel " 

"The  majesty  of  the  law  must  be  vindicated.  The 
judge  who  consents  to  the  execution  of  a  murderer  is  not 
cruel.  He  is  showing  mercy  to  Society.  Go,  now;  I 
will  not  hear  you." 

In  vain  Margaret  knocked,  begged,  pleaded,  and  sobbed. 

At  last,  in  a  fit  of  desperation,  as  she  saw  the  sun  sinking 
lower  and  the  precious  minutes  flying,  she  hurled  her 
magnificent  figure  against  the  door  and  smashed  the  cheap 
lock  which  held  it. 

The  old  man  sat  at  the  other  side  of  the  room,  looking 
out  of  the  window,  with  his  massive  jaws  locked  in  rage. 
The  girl  staggered  to  his  side,  knelt  by  his  chair,  placed 
her  trembling  hand  on  his  arm,  and  begged: 

"For  the  love  of  Jesus,  have  mercy  1  Come  with  me 
quickly  I" 

With  a  growl  of  anger,  he  said: 

"No!" 


A  Ride  for  a  Life  367 

"It  was  a  mad  impulse,  in  my  defense  as  well  as  his 
own." 

"Impulse,  yes!  But  back  of  it  lay  banked  the  fires  of 
cruelty  and  race  hatred!  The  Nation  can  not  live  with 
such  barbarism  rotting  its  heart  out." 

"But  this  is  war,  sir, — a  war  of  races,  and  this  an  acci 
dent  of  war — besides,  his  life  had  been  attempted  by  them 
twice  before." 

"So  I've  heard,  and  yet  the  Negro  always  happens  to 
be  the  victim "  i 

Margaret  leaped  to  her  feet  and  glared  at  the  old  man 
for  a  moment  in  uncontrollable  anger. 

"Are  you  a  fiend?"  she  fairly  shrieked. 

Old  Stoneman  merely  pursed  his  lips. 

The  girl  came  a  step  closer,  and  extended  her  hand 
again  in  mute  appeal. 

"  No,  I  was  foolish.  You  are  not  cruel.  I  have  heard 
of  a  hundred  acts  of  charity  you  have  done  among  our 
poor.  Come,  this  is  horrible!  It  is  impossible!  You 
can  not  consent  to  the  death  of  your  son " 

Stoneman  looked  up  sharply: 

"Thank  God,  he  hasn't  married  my  daughter  ^t " 

"Your  daughter!"  gasped  Margaret.  "I've  told  you 
it  was  Phil  who  killed  the  negro!  He  took  Ben's  place 
just  before  the  guards  were  exchanged " 

"Phil! — Phil?"  shrieked  the  old  man,  staggering  to 
his  club  foot  and  stumbling  toward  Margaret  with  dilated 
eyes  and  whitening  face;  "My  boy — Phil? — why — why, 
are  you  crazy? — Phil?  Did  you  say — Phil?" 

"Yes.     Ben  persuaded  him  to  go  to  Charlotte  until 


368  The  Clansman 

the  excitement  passed  to  avoid  trouble. — Come,  come, 
sir,  we  must  be  quick!  We  may  be  too  late!" 

She  seized  and  pulled  him  toward  the  door. 

"Yes.  Yes,  we  must  hurry,"  he  said  in  a  laboured 
whisper,  looking  around  dazed.  "You  will  show  me  the 
way,  my  child — you  love  him — yes,  we  will  go  quickly — 
quickly!  my  boy — my  boy!" 

Margaret  called  the  landlord,  and  while  they  hitched 
Queen  to  the  buggy,  the  old  man  stood  helplessly 
wringing  and  fumbling  his  big  ugly  hands,  muttering 
incoherently,  and  tugging  at  his  collar  as  though  about 
to  suffocate. 

\s  they  dashed  away,  old  Stoneman  laid  a  trembling 
toand  on  Margaret's  arm. 

"Your  horse  is  a  good  one,  my  child?" 

"Yes;  the  one  Marion  saved — the  finest  in  the  county." 

"And  you  know  the  way?" 

"Every  foot  of  it.     Phil  and  I  have  driven  it  often." 

"Yes,  yes — you  love  him,"  he  sighed,  pressing  her 
hand. 

Through  the  long  reckless  drive,  as  the  mare  flew  over 
the  rough  hills,  every  nerve  and  muscle  of  her  fine  body 
at  its  utmost  tension,  the  father  sat  silent.  He  braced  his 
club  foot  against  the  iron  bar  of  the  dashboard  and  gripped 
the  sides  of  the  buggy  to  steady  his  feeble  body.  Mar 
garet  leaned  forward  intently  watching  the  road  to  avoid 
an  accident.  The  old  man's  strange  colourless  eyes 
stared  straight  in  front,  wide  open,  and  seeing  nothing, 
as  if  the  soul  had  already  fled  through  them  into  eternity. 


CHAPTER  IX 
"VENGEANCE  Is  MINE" 

IT  was  dark  long  before  Margaret  and  Stoneman 
reached  Piedmont.  A  mile  out  of  town  a  horse 
neighed  in  the  woods,  and,  tired  as  she  was,  Queen 
threw  her  head  high  and  answered  the  call. 

The  old  man  did  not  notice  it,  but  Margaret  knew  a 
squadron  of  white-and-scarlet  horsemen  stood  in  those 
woods,  and  her  heart  gave  a  bound  of  joy. 

As  they  passed  the  Presbyterian  church,  she  saw  through 
the  open  window  her  father  standing  at  his  Elder's  seat 
leading  in  prayer.  They  were  holding  a  watch  service, 
asking  God  for  victory  in  the  eventful  struggle  of  the 
day. 

Margaret  attempted  to  drive  straight  to  the  jail,  and  a 
sentinel  stopped  them. 

"I  am  Stoneman,  sir — the  real  commander  of  these 
troops,"  said  the  old  man,  with  authority. 

"Orders  is  orders,  and  I  don't  take  'em  from  you,'* 
was  the  answer. 

"Then  tell  your  commander  that  Mr.  Stoneman  has 
just  arrived  from  Spartanburg  and  asks  to  see  him  at  the 
hotel  immediately." 

He  hobbled  into  the  parlour  and  waited  in  agony  while 


369 


370  The  Clansman 

Margaret  tied  the  mare.  Ben,  her  mother  and  father, 
and  every  servant  were  gone. 

In  a  few  moments  the  second  officer  hurried  to  Stone- 
man,  saluted,  and  said: 

"We've  pulled  it  off  in  good  shape,  sir.  They've  tried 
to  fool  us  with  a  dozen  tricks,  and  a  whole  regiment  has 
been  lying  in  wait  for  us  all  day.  But  at  dark  the  Captain 
outwitted  them,  took  his  prisoner  with  a  squad  of  picked 
cavalry,  and  escaped  their  pickets.  They've  been  gone 
an  hour,  and  ought  to  be  back  with  the  body " 

Old  Stoneman  sprang  on  him  with  the  sudden  fury  of 
a  madman,  clutching  at  his  throat. 

"If  you've  killed  my  son,"  he  gasped — "go — go!  Fol 
low  them  with  a  swift  messenger  and  stop  them!  It's  a 
mistake — you're  killing  the  wrong  man — you're  killing 
my  boy — quick — my  God,  quick — don't  stand  there  star 
ing  at  me!" 

The  officer  rushed  to  obey  his  order,  as  Margaret 
entered. 

The  old  man  seized  her  arm,  and  said  with  laboured 
breath: 

"Your  father,  my  child,  ask  him  to  come  to  me  quickly." 

Margaret  hurried  to  the  church,  and  an  usher  called  the 
doctor  to  the  door. 

He  read  the  question  trembling  on  the  girl's  lips. 

"Nothing  has  happened  yet,  my  daughter.  Your 
brother  has  held  a  regiment  of  his  men  in  readiness  every 
moment  of  the  day." 

"Mr.  Stoneman  is  at  the  hotel  and  asks  to  see  you  im 
mediately,"  she  whispered. 


_ 


"Vengeance  Is  Mine"  371 

"God  grant  he  may  prevent  bloodshed,"  said  the 
father.  "  Go  inside  and  stay  with  your  mother." 

When  Doctor  Cameron  entered  the  parlour,  Stoneman 
hobbled  painfully  to  meet  him,  his  face  ashen,  and  his 
breath  rattling  in  his  throat  as  if  his  soul  were  being 
strangled. 

"You  are  my  enemy,  Doctor,"  he  said,  taking  his  hand, 
"  but  you  are  a  pious  man.  I  have  been  called  an  infidel — 
I  am  only  a  wilful  sinner — I  have  slain  my  own  son,  un 
less  God  Almighty,  who  can  raise  the  dead,  shall  save 
him!  You  are  the  man  at  whom  I  aimed  the  blow  that 
has  fallen  on  my  head.  I  wish  to  confess  to  you  and  set 
myself  right  before  God.  He  may  hear  my  cry,  and  have 
mercy  on  me." 

He  gasped  for  breath,  sank  into  his  seat,  looked  around, 
and  said: 

"Will  you  close  the  door?" 

The  doctor  complied  with  his  request  and  returned. 

"We  all  wear  masks,  Doctor,"  began  the  trembling 
voice.  "Beneath  lie  the  secrets  of  love  and  hate  from 
which  actions  move.  My  will  alone  forged  the  chains  of 
Negro  rule.  Three  forces  moved  me — party  success,  a 
vicious  woman,  and  the  quenchless  desire  for  personal 
vengeance.  When  I  first  fell  a  victim  to  the  wiles  of  the 
yellow  vampire  who  kept  my  house,  I  dreamed  of  lifting 
her  to  my  level.  And  when  I  felt  myself  sinking  into 
the  black  abyss  of  animalism,  I,  whose  soul  had  learned 
the  pathway  of  the  stars  and  held  high  converse  with  the 
great  spirits  of  the  ages " 

He  paused,  looked  up  in  terror,  and  whispered: 


372  The  Clansman 

"What's  that  noise  ?  Isn't  it  the  distant  beat  of  horses' 
hoofs?" 

"No,"  said  the  doctor,  listening;  "it's  the  roar  of  the 
falls  we  hear,  from  a  sudden  change  qf  the  wind." 

"I'm  done  now,"  Stoneman  went  on,  slowly  fumbling 
his  hands.  "My  life  has  been  a  failure.  The  dice  of 
God  are  always  loaded." 

His  great  head  drooped  lower,  and  he  continued: 

"Mightiest  of  all  was  my  motive  of  revenge.  Fierce 
business  and  political  feuds  wrecked  my  iron- mills.  I 
shouldered  their  vast  debts,  and  paid  the  last  mortgage 
of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  the  week  before  Lee  invaded 
my  state.  I  stood  on  the  hill  in  the  darkness,  cried,  raved, 
cursed,  while  I  watched  his  troops  lay  those  mills  in  ashes. 
Then  and  there  I  swore  that  I'd  live  until  I  ground  the 
South  beneath  my  heel!  When  I  got  back  to  my  house, 
they  had  buried  a  Confederate  soldier  in  the  field.  I 
dug  his  body  up,  carted  it  to  the  woods,  and  threw  it  into 
a  ditch " 

The  hand  of  the  white-haired  Southerner  suddenly 
gripped  old  Stoneman's  throat — and  then  relaxed.  His 
head  sank  on  his  breast,  and  he  cried  in  anguish: 

"God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!  Would  I,  too,  seek 
revenge ! " 

Stoneman  looked  at  the  doctor,  dazed  by  his  sudden 
onslaught  and  collapse. 

"Yes,  he  was  somebody's  boy  down  here,"  he  went  on, 
"who  was  loved  perhaps  even  as  I  love — I  don't  blame 
you-  See,  in  the  inside  pocket  next  to  my  heart  I  carry 
the  pictures  of  Phil  and  Elsie  taken  from  babyhood  up/ 


"  Vengeance  Is  Mine  "  373 

all  set  in  a  little  book.    They  don't  know  this — nor  does 
the  world  dream  I've  been  so  soft-hearted " 

He  drew  a  miniature  album  from  his  pocket  and  fum 
bled  it  aimlessly: 

"You  know  Phil  was  my  first-born " 

His  voice  broke,  and  he  looked  at  the  doctor  helplessly. 

The  Southerner  slipped  his  arm  around  the  old  man's 
shoulders  and  began  a  tender  and  reverent  prayer. 

The  sudden  thunder  of  a  squad  of  cavalry  with  clanking 
sabres  swept  by  the  hotel  toward  the  jail. 

Stoneman  scrambled  to  his  feet,  staggered,  and  caught 
a  chair. 

"It's  no  use,"  he  groaned,  " — they've  come  with  his 
body — I'm  slipping  down — the  lights  are  going  out — I 
haven't  a  friend!  It's  dark  and  cold — I'm  alone,  and 
lost — God — has — hidden — His — face — from — me ! " 

Voices  were  heard  without,  and  the  tramp  of  heavy  feet 
on  the  steps. 

Stoneman  clutched  the  doctor's  arm  in  agony: 

"Stop  them! — Stop  them!  Don't  let  them  bring  him 
in  here!" 

He  sank  limp  into  the  chair  and  stared  at  the  door  as 
it  swung  open  and  Phil  walked  in,  with  Ben  and  Elsie  by 
his  side  in  full  clansman  disguise. 

The  old  man  leaped  to  his  feet  and  gasped: 

"The  Klan!— The  Klan!  No?  Yes!  It's  true- 
glory  to  God,  they've  saved  my  boy! — Phil — Phil!" 

"  How  did  you  rescue  him  ?  "  Doctor  Cameron  asked  Ben. 
"Had  a  squadron  lying  in  wait  on  every  road  that  led 


374  The  Clansman 

from  town.    The  Captain  thought  a  thousand  men  were 
on  him,  and  surrendered  without  a  shot." 

At  twelve  o'clock,  Ben  stood  at  the  gate  with  Elsie. 

"Your  fate  hangs  in  the  balance  of  this  election  to 
night,"  she  said.  "I'll  share  it  with  you,  success  or  fail 
ure,  life  or  death." 

"Success,  not  failure,"  he  answered,  firmly.  "The 
Grand  Dragons  of  six  states  have  already  wired  victory. 
Look  at  our  lights  on  the  mountains!  They  are  ablaae 
— range  on  range  our  signals  gleam  until  the  Fiery  Cross 
is  lost  among  the  stars!" 

"What  does  it  mean?"  she  whispered. 

"That  I  am  a  successful  revolutionist — that  Civilisa 
tion  has  been  saved,  and  the  South  redeemed  from  shame." 

THE  END 


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